David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

A boom sounded, startling him, and shook the stone floor of the parapet. The whole tower rocked from it, and he saw bits of stone dust flake away from the gargoyles and go drifting down, down, hundreds of feet.

The people below did not react to the thunder. They continued to go about their affairs, unaware that a storm was brewing-nay, not a storm, Despair decided, a hurricane, the kind of monster that comes only once in ten thousand years.

Lord Despair could feel the threat of it. The wind would lift children from their feet and hurl them about like leaves. The rain would fall in a deluge, and those caught within it would be swept away in floods.

In his dream, the voice of the Earth whispered, the voice of a young woman, as his eyes were held riveted upon the wyrmling horde. "The End of Time is coming. Behold your brothers and sisters, eating and breeding and toiling. You have been granted the power to save them, as was done with your fore-bearers. There are so many to choose from. Look upon them, and choose."

Lord Despair could not turn away. He peered down at a small boy sweeping a wagon that the teamsters had unloaded, and he felt such compassion for the child that his heart nearly broke. He wanted to shout a warning, but he was too far away to do so.

"Choose," the Earth whispered, and Despair recognized the woman s voice. Lord Despair whirled, and saw a young woman, graceful and beautiful to look upon. Her name was Yaleen. She was made of pebbles and stones and soil and crushed leaves, as if the humus from a garden had taken human form. Yet she was as beautiful as if she had been freshly sculpted from flesh.

In all of the millennia of existence, Despair had never felt such awesome power as this woman exuded. There was such profound love in her voice, such compassion. She was trying to bend Despair to her will.

"Who are you," Despair demanded. "What are you?"

Upon many worlds, of course, Despair had seen the tribes of men worship the Earth. Some thought it was only nature, some called it a god or an impersonal force. And upon all of the millions of millions of shadow worlds, no one really knew what it was that they worshipped.

Personally, Despair suspected that it was the spirit of some great wizard-a wizard whose powers had split when the One True World shattered. But it might also have been some innate force within that One True World itself, a force that was constantly seeking to heal the broken worlds, to bind them back into one.

Few were the mortals who had ever seen the Earth Spirit.

But now, the creature showed itself to Despair.

"How can you have lived so long," the Earth whispered, "and still not know me? I have not hidden myself from you. I make myself manifest in every breath of wind, and in every cool sip of water. I am the dark between the stars, and rocks beneath your feet. I am love and war and all righteous longing. I am the grass on the hillside and the lion in its den."

"You seek to bend me to your will," Lord Despair accused.

"As you seek to bend me to yours," Earth replied, "even though you swore to be my ally."

Lord Despair was about to object, but he could feel a small presence in his skull, tiptoeing around. It was the consciousness of Areth Sul Urstone, the remnants of what he had been, still struggling desperately to regain dominance. Lord Despair had been aware of him. It was not uncommon. Despair was a parasite, vast and bloated. He had seized the young man s body, and in time the soul would weaken and die, and that feeling of being watched would leave.

It was Areth, of course, who had sworn vows to protect the Earth. And now, the Earth peered at Lord Despair, and she did not focus her eyes upon him, but past him, as if speaking directly to Areth.

"You swore to save the seeds of mankind through the dark time to come. Remember your vows, little one."

Yaleen stepped forward, reached down to the ground, and picked up a pinch of soil, then stood and threw it. Lord Despair tried to duck away, but some soil struck him between the eyes. "The Earth hide you," she whispered, "the Earth heal you. The Earth make you its own."

Suddenly, in his mind, Areth reared up and tried to seize control.

Areth tried to raise his left hand to the square.

"Choose some of those people," the Earth urged. "Certainly some are worthy of life? Look into their hearts. Search their dreams, and sift through hidden ambitions that even they do not know of. Peer into their pasts, and learn their loves and fears. Choose who shall survive the coming storm. Choose who will build the new world."

Areth wrenched his neck and peered down over the parapet. There were so many people. They were so far away. They were like ants. He couldn t see their faces.

With a scream of anguish, Lord Despair roared and brought his hands down, clutching the edge of the parapet.

He woke and lay for a moment, beads of sweat upon his brow. Lord Despair gasped, the earthy dust of the floor filling his lungs.

Sweat stood out on his brow and on his upper lip, and his heart beat irregularly. In his dream, he had loved his people so much.

But Lord Despair loved no one. He fought back, tried to push the memory of it from his mind.

"My spirit shall not always strive with you," Yaleen s voice seemed to whisper deep inside. "You have not chosen wisely. Use the power I have given you, or it shall be bestowed upon another."

For eons Despair had wished to possess the body of an Earth King, and at last had found the opportunity.

But now he saw that with the power came a deep compulsion. It was time to begin saving the seeds of mankind.

Despair considered.

Dare I risk losing this power? No. The Earth demands a partnership, and its demands are light. It does not tell me who to choose, or why. Only that I must use my gift to ensure that some survive.

But whom shall I choose?

He had selected a few already in the moment when he d taken this body. He d done it not for love, nor because he desired their better welfare. He d merely selected wyrmling lords, men that he could use as… alarms. When danger threatened them, he would know that an enemy was about to attack.

That is all that they were. He did not care for these creatures any more than if they were roaches.

But now Despair was being warned to begin the process in earnest.

I will not let Earth bend me to its will, he told himself.

Cullossax and Kirissa spent the morning hours in the depths of the forest shadows, walking in a large circle, crossing the same ground over and over to hide their trail. Their scent would be strong here. Twice they set up false trails, leading from their little circle, only to return, walking backward, step by step, into their own tracks. Then they carefully broke from the circle one last time and treaded along firm ground, beneath the alders.

It is not an easy thing for a five-hundred-pound wyrmling to hide his tracks. Cullossax and Kirissa did the best that they could, raking leaves over their trail, taking an hour to cross less than a mile. They found a small lake and waded across its length to a rocky beach, then climbed into some dense woods.

Even with the tree cover, the sun was blinding to a wyrmling, and often Cullossax had to hold Kirissa s hand as she blinked back tears of pain, unable to see.

Cullossax did his best to ignore his own discomfort. But as morning wore on, the sunlight striking down through the trees burned his pale skin until it turned red and began to welt; he winced at the slightest touch. His salty sweat only heightened the pain.