Wayne Batson - The Final Storm

As the opening widened, a wave of horror and revulsion washed over Aidan. He constricted his grip on the reins and fought off the violent churning heaves in his stomach. For an odor came forth from the gate. There was the sickly sweet smell of rot, the acrid stench of burning flesh, and something else-foulness beyond the smell of death and decay! It was as if someone had unearthed the bowels of The Realm where many dead things had been buried, and in so doing had released a river of sewage and gore.

Aidan gagged, but somehow managed to keep his stomach. He had to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to himself.

“Come on, lads!” bellowed Drang. “Lord Kearn will be most anxious for our return!” The opening widened more, and the dragons ambled forward. As Aidan’s dragon drew closer, Aidan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

Within the cavern there were hundreds of knights marching purposefully between uncountable racks of swords, barbed spears, wide double-bladed axes, wickedly serrated swords-and scythelike weapons Aidan had not seen before. These had a long wooden staff and at the end bore a long, curved, sicklelike blade.

Dozens of wooden towers stood dormant like silent giants along the sides of the cavern. Each one had wheels at its base, six armored compartments, and an adjustable platform at the top. Next to these Aidan saw row upon row of catapults and tarped wagons full of barrels-These are the siege weapons used against Mithegard!

The ceiling was smoky and filled with jagged stalactites. Hung among them were great chains of iron and odd-looking long cages filled with black dangling moss.

Paragor’s Knights nodded or saluted as the soldiers passed. Drang stopped the caravan and leaned from his saddle to talk with a sentry. This knight raced off into one of the yawning tunnels that ran around all sides of the cavern. The dragon riders began to dismount, and the massive doors shut behind them with a thunderous boom.

Aidan released the reins and slowly looked up to one of the long cages hanging directly overhead, and for several agonizing moments, he could not focus on what he saw. Still staring at the basket, Aidan reeled and nearly fell out of his saddle. For dangling from the basket, with black rotting flesh barely clinging to it, was a skeletal arm.

Aidan staggered down from his saddle and landed with a sickening splatter. He refused to look down at his boots.

“Line up, you louts!” Drang hissed. “Lord Kearn is coming!”

The dragon riders quickly formed two rows of rigidly straight lines. Aidan joined them, barely breathing. From across the cavern, marching with confidence and purpose, strode a tall caped warrior. His hair was long and blond. He carried a massive wide sword in one hand, and in the other what looked like a book.

Aidan knew this warrior. “Robby’s Glimpse,” he whispered. The red glint in Kearn’s eyes made Aidan cringe.

His menacing sword at his side, Kearn strode up to Drang. “What in The Realm took you so long?” he demanded in a very deep, commanding voice with no hint of Robby’s tone or accent. “The Black Breath begins in an hour. We march in three!”

“Lord Kearn,” Drang said with a bow. “We took the time as was necessary. Nothing more. Our errand, as you know, was for Paragor first.”

Kearn closed in and held the blade of his weapon to Drang’s neck. “Trifle me not with your priorities. I know them well enough. Paragor, no doubt, will wonder why you took so long as well. I am certain that he will have less patience for your excuses than I.”

“B-but, Master Kearn,” Drang said. “We have brought back what you asked for. That Baen-Edge miser Ebenezer drove a hard bargain, but ours was harder.” Drang and the others laughed. Kearn sheathed his sword.

“Let me see it,” Kearn commanded. “And you had better hope that you brought back the right one.”

Drang turned to one of the other dragon riders, who handed him a bundle. Drang unwrapped it and handed a beautiful sword to Kearn. “You see, Lord Kearn,” Drang said, pandering to his superior. “The seabird wings on the crossguard, just like you said. The runes, the spiraling banners on the ivory grip. It is the very blade!”

“I misjudged you, Drang. Yes, this is the one!” Kearn exulted. “You have done well, Drang. Very well.”

“You going to taunt her with it, eh, Kearn?” Drang asked slyly.

“What else?” Kearn replied curtly. Drang’s smile disappeared.

Aidan stared at the blade. The Daughter of Light, Gwenne’s sword. Would Antoinette have been given it to use in The Realm? he wondered.

“You will no doubt be wanting your gold,” Kearn said.

Drang shifted and looked back at the other knights. “If it is all the same to you, Lord Kearn, we would like half of the gold we agreed on.”

“Half?” Kearn raised an eyebrow.

Drang swallowed. “Well, sir, we went to the old tree like Paragor commanded, but there was nothing else there. So, uh… we had hoped that you might put in a word on our behalf… to the master, that is.”

Kearn laughed. “You mean you want me to excuse you from Paragor’s rage for your failure to complete his mission?”

“Well, sir, it is in both our best interests,” Drang replied. “Our side errand to fetch the sword might have been the reason we missed whatever was at the old tree.”

“Why, you conniving little wretch!” Kearn hissed. “Dare you threaten to blame your incompetence on me? I ought to feed you all to the firstborn!” Kearn pointed his sword to the dark hollow in the back of the cavern.

“No, please!” Drang pleaded. “I did not mean it as a threat! We would not tell Paragor at first that you sent us on an errand without his leave. It is just that, well… the master is very wise-and persuasive! Sooner or later he would dig the truth from us-unless someone he trusts gives him a reason he will believe.”

Kearn lowered the sword. “Very well,” he said. “I will clear your name before Paragor, and you will get one quarter of the promised gold!”

“One quarter?” Drang exclaimed.

“Silence!” Kearn commanded. “Be content that I give you any gold at all.”

And with that, Kearn turned to leave. Aidan frowned. He had wanted to follow Kearn, hoping that if Antoinette was nearby Kearn would lead him to her. Now Kearn was headed to see Paragor. Aidan had no desire to sneak into the lair of Alleble’s most powerful enemy.

“Oh, one more thing, Drang,” Kearn called out, turning and walking back. “You took a team of eighteen. And yet I count only seventeen who return.”

“It is Galdoth you miss, sir,” Drang replied. “Great lummox lost his weapon-got it stuck in the stump of the old tree, he did. He and Blarrak fell behind after a turn, and then the bowhawkers came upon them! Slew Galdoth with their cursed shafts! Blarrak just barely escaped. Hearing the news, we mounted up and flew home at all speed.”

Kearn strolled over and stood in front of Aidan. “Is this so, Blarrak?” Kearn asked, his voice clipped and tight. “You were nearly slain by the Yewland Braves?”

Aidan nodded. He was thankful for the close-fitting helmet, for it hid his face. Kearn might not recognize Aidan personally, but they all would certainly recognize that Aidan was not Glimpse-kind.

“They missed you?” Kearn said, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. “I find that very interesting. The Braves of Yewland do not often miss.”

Aidan knew he had to say something. Once again, he lowered his voice and tried to speak in the manner of the enemy. “Galdoth fell behind me, black shaft buried deep in his back. I escaped around a bend and tumbled down the hill before they could hit me!”

“I suppose that is possible,” Kearn said. “The archers would have been on the run, firing at a running target. Perhaps when you fell, their fire went awry. But there is something more troubling to me.”