David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

Thus, the wyrmling guards cowered, lest they brush up against the hunger-maddened wights.

For their parts, the wights loomed above the fallen ones, trembling with anticipation.

"What shall we do with them, Great Wyrm?" a wight asked, its voice a hiss.

Despair approved of their lust, for it served him well.

"Leave them to me," Despair said.

"But… we hunger," the wight complained.

In touching mortal flesh, the wights had tasted their victims spirits. For the wights, gazing down upon their victims would be like a man standing over a tremendous feast-where fresh loaves of warm bread filled the room with their scent, while delectable meats and pastries and puddings begged to be eaten-and being told that one might only have a single nibble.

"You have served me well," Despair told them. "Go to your chambers. We have fresh captives from the wild-small folks whose souls are sweeter and more succulent than any wyrmling. The guards will bring some shortly."

The wights scattered at his command. A wind seemed to rise, and they floated away upon it, their black garments fluttering.

Despair bent over his victims and studied their faces. Each of them had gone as white as a wolf s tooth. Each of them bore a wound-a single place where a Death Lord had touched them. All breathed shallowly, and were in danger of dying.

But they were young and strong, and had endowments of stamina to boot. It was difficult to know if their stamina could keep them alive, for the touch of a Death Lord wounded the soul more than the body.

Most likely, Despair decided, they will each wake in a few hours, feeling more dead than alive. In time, even a wound to the spirit can heal.

"My lord," a guard asked, "shall we execute any of them?"

Despair peered at his captives, wondering how best to use them. He recognized some of them. Despair had taken over Areth Sul Urstone s body, and thus could access the prince s memories.

The Emir Tuul Ra had been Areth Sul Urstone s most beloved friend at one time. The emir s people had been destroyed, and thus Despair considered that he might be of little worth as a political prisoner. Yet one never knew. Who ruled the folk of Caer Luciare now?

Vulgnash had killed their king, and Areth was his heir. That meant that they had no king at the moment. Had the people chosen the emir to act as regent?

It would have been a wise choice, Despair considered.

Thus, the emir had possible worth as a political prisoner. The folk of Caer Luciare might offer bribes for his release. But there was a greater hope.

Why had the emir come? To save Areth Sul Urstone alone? Or could he have, in his short span of time, forged some kind of bond with Fallion?

That was the question that nagged Despair. Who among these would Fallion value most? Who might he want to save?

Daylan Hammer of course had lived for an eternity. Despair had killed him time and time again, but his spirit was strong, and within days of his death, he would re-corporate.

How much has Daylan taught Fallion? Lord Despair wondered. What kind of bond have they forged?

He studied the girl that they had captured, leaned over her. She was petite for a girl of the warrior clans, and her hair was unusually dark. Most of those in the clans were redheaded, but her hair was a deep chestnut in color.

Despair reached down to her tunic, opened it slightly. She had runes of power branded there, just below her neckline.

Vulgnash had said that Fallion was traveling in company with two girls and a young man, another of the small folk. So Despair had suspected that one of his companions might come to his rescue, but he had not expected the two girls.

What luck! he thought. I have one of the girls, and Vulgnash will capture the other. Surely he loves one of them-perhaps both. What would he give up, in order to save them from the tormentors?

He reached down and stroked the girl s cheek. Such a precious thing.

"Keep them all alive," Despair said, "until I have a chance to question them."

"Even this one?" a guard asked, kicking the wyrmling girl. Her guards had let her break free for just an instant in the battle, so that a wight might take her.

Despair considered. Of them all, it seemed least likely that Fallion would have forged a relationship with a wyrmling. But one never knew.

In the binding of the worlds, many folk had merged with their shadow selves-humans as well as wyrmlings. Had Fallion known this girl s shadow self? Is that why the girl had turned against her own kind?

"Keep her alive, too," Despair said.

"Will our dungeon hold them?" a guard asked.

"The cells were made to withstand even the toughest wyrmling warriors," Despair said. "And though some of these may have the strength of ten men, their bones are as brittle as ours. They won t be able to batter down the iron doors, and even the smallest of them could not squeeze between the bars.

"Still, put only one captive to a cell. Search them thoroughly and remove any weapons. Then chain them securely; allow none of the guards to get near their cells. Vulgnash alone will be their jailer."

At that Despair hesitated. Vulgnash was off chasing the winged woman, and would soon return either with or without her. Despair hated consigning Vulgnash to such a mundane task as guard duty. But prisoners such as these demanded his skills.

Despair dared not let common troops near the Runelords.

Yet… there were other duties that Vulgnash needed to attend to. There was the uprising at Caer Luciare, where the foolish Fang Guards were taking endowments from their kin, believing that they could best Despair.

They had to be punished. Despair considered sending his troops, captained of course by his chosen warriors. But the Earth warned against it. None of his lords could withstand the new powers that had arisen at Caer Luciare-none but Vulgnash.

So Vulgnash would have to go. Despair needed to regain control of the blood-metal mines, for he sensed a coming danger. Not today, not even the next. It might be days away-a week. But an attack was coming.

There was nothing for it. Despair needed Vulgnash to pull double duty.

The guards lifted the prisoners and carried them down to the dungeons. Despair followed, to make sure that none of the captives woke or tried to escape.

Once they were all stripped of weapons, and shackled in their cells, Despair stopped to check on Fallion.

He was dead asleep, with the frost still riming his lips. The room was bone-numbingly cold.

Fallion cried out in his sleep, "No! Not that!"

Despair smiled and wondered what the tormentors were doing to the boy s Dedicates. Fallion had been given another hundred endowments of compassion. Right now, the tormentors were in the process of removing the excess body parts from Fallion s Dedicates. Despair had told the tormentors that in his opinion, any body part on a Dedicate was to be deemed "excessive."

"Sleep, my little friend," Despair whispered. "All too soon, we will wake you to your horror."

Lord Despair left the prisoners to their cold cells, took a thumb-lantern, and went stalking to his throne room with his head bent, his brow furrowed, to await Vulgnash s return.

The glow worms that adorned the ceilings and walls did not give enough light for his all-too-human eyes.

In his throne room he took reports from his facilitators. Despair had garnered his allotment of a thousand endowments, and Fallion had been given his. A test had been run on a wyrmling, to learn if by taking an endowment of sight from a human, he might abide the daylight. The results were good, but not impeccable.

This pleased Despair. He ordered more endowments, but found that his supply of blood metal had been exhausted, so he sent his chief facilitator away, promising to get more ore soon.