Shadowblood

Chapter Sixteen

The world scrolled by beneath Tamara, fields and forests visible through gaps in the clouds. The dragon’s monstrous wings slashed the air, impelling it forward with every stroke. The wind rushing past and the rise and fall of the great beast on every beat gave her a sense of motion. At this height, it was difficult to gain any sense of the distance covered from the movement of landmarks.

The chill bit into her bones. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm her. She took another chew of witchweed, and the drug trickled energy into her bones. Instinctively she glanced over her shoulder but she was alone in the sky save for the clouds and the sun. There were no signs of pursuit.

Surely she must have outdistanced it by now. She had passed over the Kharadrean border long ago and had taken a weaving flight path to confuse any dragon-riders that might have been after her. She could not rule out the possibility that the Brotherhood might have tracked Ironfang using scrying spells but still she doubted they could overhaul her now. Ironfang was a powerful ancient dragon and there were few in the world now to match him for speed and endurance.

She reached down and stroked his scaly neck lovingly. He could not feel the physical caress but the mental one would reach him through the link they shared. He responded in kind, sending her a wave of encouragement. His happiness at being airborne illuminated her mind like sunlight.

For a moment exultation touched her. She felt like a goddess and not even the knowledge she bore could bring her down. Beneath the dragon’s excitement she sensed hunger and the beginnings of fatigue and that brought her back to reality.

Below her a massive army marched, the formations so slow and strangely organised that she decided to get a closer look, even if it meant risking being shot at from the ground.

Down, she told Ironfang.

The dragon altered the flexion of its wings, and swooped lower. The earth seemed to rise to meet them. She had a sudden dizzying attack of vertigo as it came closer with fantastic speed. Beneath her an army stretched to the horizon. Massive wyrms towed huge gun carriages. Squadrons of cavalry raised clouds of dust. Regiments of purple clad soldiers marched in ordered ranks. Noticing the direction she had come from, and assuming she was friendly, they sent up a ragged cheer.

She was so low now that she could make out individuals. She waved to them as they blurred past. A few of the Terrarch officers waved back. They most likely assumed she was a scout or a courier. She nudged Ironfang in the direction of the things that had first drawn her interest.

What she saw staggered her.

Massive crowds of undead creatures marched in ragged rows to the beat of a dismal drum, rotten flesh hung from their bones, their corrupt stink rising to assault even the heavens. Dead eyes traced her path across the skies. There were thousands and thousands of them, and more streamed to join them from every direction. Something about the beat of those drums attracted them. As far as she could tell they were not armed, and they wore no uniforms, but they would not have to. The walking dead could tear a man apart with their bare hands and feast on his flesh.

She reined back and Ironfang began to climb, far slower than he had made his descent. She sensed the great dragon’s confusion and the instinctive revulsion he felt to the unnatural creatures below them. His emotions amplified her own.

The Brotherhood was gathering an army of the dead to invade the West by the power of its magic. The sheer scale of it was staggering and she knew that the size of the horde would grow with every battle. Even those who the plague did not kill would carry its spores in their blood and if they died would rise again. Spells of domination compelled them to flock to the Sardean banner. The longer the war went on the more unstoppable that army would become. The things she had seen were just the first small stones in an avalanche of undead flesh that would eventually overwhelm the world.

Not for the first time since she had set out did she wonder if she was wise to flee to her father’s ancient enemies. It was entirely possible that the West would fall beneath the power that Xephan had unleashed. There might be no escape there. Maybe the smartest thing she could do would be fly Ironfang to the uttermost West of the Ascalean continent and take ship across the Western Ocean. The chances were that it would not save her. In the end, if the Brotherhood won, they would conquer the entire world and there would be no escape from their grasp.

That was the curse of being a Terrarch, she thought sourly. If you lived long enough things caught up with you, and the chances were that she would have a long life.

Something of her anger touched the dragon and he screamed with a sound like a huge blade dragged down a giant shield. She did not want to run. She wanted to fight. She began slow breathing exercises to calm herself. One of the disadvantages of riding a dragon was that emotional feedback occurred. Her anger would stoke the dragons and its increased rage would feed back into her, forging a cycle of wrath that might eventually drive her berserk if she did not control it.

She urged her mount on, knowing that she would have to find a place beyond the reach of the Army of the Dead’s scouts if she was escape the clutches of the Brotherhood. Somewhere up ahead must be the army of the West.

Tamara circled over the Talorean army. There was no doubt it was them. They were heading East, the red dragon banner fluttered above many units though there were far fewer of them than there were Sardeans to the East. The trick was going to be reaching the army’s commanders without getting herself killed. Even bringing the dragon down to within hailing distance risked being peppered with fire by the Talorean Skywatchers.

Was she doing the right thing? She might get herself killed down there. There was a war on, and many would suspect her of being a spy. Their suspicions would be more than justified by the fact that until recently, that was exactly what she had been.

It would be easier to set down out of sight and join the army by stealth but that would mean abandoning Ironfang to his own devices and that she was reluctant to do. Without a rider, he might easily go rogue and in the coming struggle a full grown war-dragon was far too potent a weapon to lose. Besides that she had become fond of the old monster. A bond had been forged between them in more than the magical sense. They had shared fears and thoughts and emotions. He was her last link to her old life, and she was reluctant to give him up.

She continued to circle certain that someone down there had noticed her. She needed to come to a decision soon. It would not be long before a flight of dragons was sent to intercept her. She was not sure she wanted to face a trained dragonrider and his long-time mount, let alone a whole squadron of them. Even a beast as powerful as Ironfang would be torn from the skies by lesser dragons in sufficient numbers.

A plan formed in her mind. No time like the present, she thought, and ordered her mount down to land. She aimed for a point well to the fore of the oncoming army and prayed that no one would do anything stupid before they found out who she was.

Ironfang settled on the ground atop a small hillock, giving her a fine view of the oncoming army. An onrushing cloud of dust told her that she had been spotted, and that scout’s were coming to meet her. She forced herself to remain calm as they approached, removing her helmet and goggles so that they might see her face.

The Talorean scouts stopped at hailing distance. They were dragoons. A group of them dismounted and raised their carbines to cover her. Ironfang arched his neck and hissed a warning. Tamara had a dreadful sense that it was all about to go terribly wrong.

She put a smile on her face, even though they probably could not see it and shouted, “I am an Emissary from the East. I wish to speak to the Lady Asea.”

“Give me one good reason for not having you killed?” Asea said.

Tamara knew how close to death she stood. Her dragon had been taken away to join the western flights. Both Rik and Karim had weapons drawn, and Asea was garbed in her full battle armour. Soldiers ringed the tent. Glowglobes burned so brightly that there were no shadows present for her to vanish into. She eyed Asea with cool insolence and said, “Because I have information you might find useful and a proposition that may save your life.”

“Go on,” said Asea.

Tamara shrugged. “I know what Rik is. You know what I am. That knowledge could get all of us placed upon a pyre.”

“All the more reason for silencing you forever,” said Asea. Her voice was softer now though and her manner more conciliatory. She was turning things over in her head, trying to work out all the angles. “Given who you are and what you have done, I cannot trust you within striking distance of myself or Rik.”

“No more than I can trust you. I think we will have to rely on the fact that we have shared interests and common enemies.”

“And who would those be?”

“The Princes of Shadow.”

The temperature in the tent seemed to dip. Karim raised himself up on his toes ready to strike. Tamara cocked her head to one side, and smiled winningly. “I see that comes as no surprise to you,” she said. “Oh dear, I was rather hoping for a more dramatic response. Gasps of amazement and horror, that sort of thing.”

“These are not matters for levity,” said Asea. “Your father served the Princes all of his long life. I have no reason to believe that you do not either.”

“You are right about my father. You are wrong about me. At least in part.”

“I don’t think that is possible. You are either serve the Princes or you don’t. They do not allow any other choice in the matter.”

“Perhaps not on Al’Terra but we are not on the homeworld now. For you and my father the Princes were real. Their deeds were something you experienced. Their power was something that you encountered. For me they were little more than a myth, a belief of my father’s that I humoured, the way I humour the humans who believe in the Prophets.”

“And something happened to change your mind?”

“I found out my father was right and I was wrong and I found out that I am not cut out to serve.”

“Die on your feet rather than live on your knees? Surprisingly noble sentiments for an assassin.”

“I would prefer living on my feet to dying on my knees which I think are my current options.”

“We shall see what happens,” said Asea. “For the moment, your life is in my hands. What is this information you have for me?”

“I tried to kill Xephan,” said Tamara.

“The Prime Minister? That was ambitious of you.”

“The Empress commanded me to do it. She is afraid of him.” Tamara swiftly explained the circumstances surrounding her precipitous departure from Sardea. She sensed Asea’s unwillingness to believe and deliberately kept her delivery as flat as possible. She did not seek to elicit sympathy, merely to convey the facts. She talked of the Black Mirror and the great spell being cast in the vaults of the Palace.

After she had finished there was silence. It was obvious that none of her listeners knew exactly what to say. At least they had not laughed at her or told her she was lying.

“It all fits,” said Rik. Tamara had to fight to stop herself from shooting him a grateful look. Asea nodded but then glared at Tamara. “That does not mean I trust you.”

“I do not ask you to do so. But believe me, I have no more love for Xephan and his cronies than you do. And they dislike me as much as you now.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Asea.

“I can help you,” she said. “And you can help me.”

“In what way?”

“I can train Rik,” she said. “I can turn him into what you want him to be.”

Asea’s stare became a fraction more arctic. Tamara could almost see the cogs turning in her brain as she made her calculations. “And what would you want in return?”

At least they were in a negotiating situation now. Tamara weighed out her own words carefully. “I want your protection. I want a place in the new order if you win. And I want another chance to kill Xephan. You will help me with your knowledge.”

Asea measured her, and came to a decision. “I will think about it but in the meantime you will accept truesilver chains.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will kill you. You are too dangerous to let go free. Do you accept?”

Tamara felt trapped. When she was in the chains there was no way she could use her powers to escape. She would be entirely in Asea's hands. On the other hand, if she did not accept she might never leave this place alive. She doubted that she could overcome all three of them in combat.

There were other options. She could agree now and seek to escape later before she was put in chains. She could try and open a shadow path now and depart before they could stop her. Of course, that would leave her in the midst of an army of her foes, and with no more protection against Xephan and his ilk than she had before she came here, even assuming she could escape.

Asea’s gaze was fixed upon her. And she realised that the sorceress was simply waiting for her to try something. If she made any attempt to get away she would be confirming Asea’s suspicions.

And there was something else. She did not want Xephan to rule Sardea and she did not want the Princes of Shadow to rule this world. She had made her decision instinctively during that first assassination attempt. In her bones, she was his enemy. She would oppose him with her life if necessary. If it was a choice between serving him or Asea, she would choose Asea rather than that otherworldly horror. She straightened her shoulders. “Very well then, I agree to your terms."

“ Karim — bring the chains!” said Asea with a smile of triumph.

Karim produced fetters from one of the massive travelling chests and fixed her arms behind her back. He was not gentle. The chains went into place with a loud click.