David Drake: The Gods Return

To look at Liane you'd never guess that she'd just watched a big grove of trees lift up from around her and walk over the roofs of the city.

Cashel grinned. She'd seen other stuff just as amazing, he guessed; but he'd bet she'd look just as cool and unworried now if she'd spent her previous life chatting with other fine ladies in the palace. She was a good friend for Sharina, and she'd be a great queen for Garric.

Rasile yipped, then made a funny twitch in the air with her slate athame. A slanted image of Dariada hung in the air, not dimmed by the sunlight nor smothered by brick dust still settling over the ruined enclosure. From this angle the Tree looked like green surf sweeping across a beach of red roof tiles. The soldiers and citizens on the battlements were ant-sized; Cashel could tell what they were only because he already knew. There were lots more ants on the plains to the south of the city, but he didn't see the Worm. It would come soon enough. Cashel went back to looking out for Archas. He wondered if the fellow would be alone. Well, he had to be stopped. No matter who or what was with him. He spun his quarterstaff, getting the kinks out of his shoulders. "You can watch this, Warrior Cashel," Rasile said. Her voice was a bit harsh, but she sounded strong. "Ma'am," he said, "I think I ought to keep an eye out for the pirate that's coming here."

"I will let you know when Archas nears," Rasile said. "Until then you may watch your fellow warrior. You are much alike, you and Warrior Gorand, you know." "Yes, ma'am," Cashel said, turning toward the image. "I do know that." The Tree was climbing over the city walls.

Gorand had gone off to the left instead of heading straight to where the pirates were. Which made sense when Cashel thought about it, since Gorand would've been trampling on people for sure if he'd crossed the wall where they were thickest. There were only a few stairs down from the battlements for folks to get out of the way. The picture was clear as clear, even sharper than what the wizard had showed him back in Pandah. She didn't seem near so wrung out as she'd been then, neither.

Rasile smiled. "This is a good place for my sort of art, Cashel," she said. "Almost a uniquely good place. That is why the Warrior Archas is coming here." Cashel nodded; he could feel the prickle of wizardry all over his body. It wasn't just Rasile's little chant to make the picture of what was happening on the walls. The Worm squirmed out of the air like a maggot twisting from the sore it'd raised on a sheep's back. Its solid parts were gray, and it was purple with mixed wizardlight in the splotches that hadn't yet come out of the place it was from. The Worm had a round mouth, and the spike it pointed to the city wall was as long as a boat's mast. The defenders had to have known about the Worm, but they must not've understood. There was a rush to get off the battlements rightsnap! when the creature started toward the walls. People fell and pushed each other off; even soldiers were running, some of them. Cashel grimaced, but he couldn't have done anything about it even if he'd been there. He started the staff circling again, slowly though. This wasn't for any purpose besides working his muscles while he watched what he couldn't change. He wondered if he and the quarterstaff would've made a difference down there on the walls. He didn't suppose they could, though he'd be willing to try. An angle of the walls poked out to the east, following a wedge of land between two gullies that were dry at least at this time of the year. The Tree was crawling toward it. Rasile's image showed things so well that Cashel could see that the fields-they'd been planted in maize-were torn up behind the Tree. It looked like a whole village of drunken plowmen had driven oxen through them. Gorand was doing what he could to spare people, but anything else had to take its chances. The ground trembled even here in the center of the city.

It was a constant shudder, enough to keep dust motes dancing over the piles of brick where the walls used to be. Cashel thought it was Gorand, but then the Tree walked around the corner of the wall. The shiver in the ground changed as the Worm turned toward the new enemy.

The pirates had been standing well back from the Worm. When Gorand appeared they just ran: south back where they'd come from, or west away from the Tree. Rasile didn't seem to do anything, but Cashel found he was seeing the Worm and the Tree up close as they slid together. The Worm had been big when he watched it smash through the walls of Ombis, but it'd gotten a lot bigger since. He wondered how long Archas figured to control it if it kept on growing; but maybe that was why the pirate chief was coming here to the temple. The Worm reared, swelling its mouth open the way a whirlpool spreads in still water. It puffed black smoke across a broad swathe of the Tree.

Foliage fell away like leaves killed by a late freeze. Even bark sloughed, leaving branches dry and as white as old bone. The Worm drove forward, slashing with its murderous tusk. Wood seared by the creature's poisonous breath crackled and splintered before its attack.

Nothing could've stopped that onrush, but the long flanks of the Tree closed about the gray body. Cashel could hear the Tree's movement, a vast hollow sigh like a storm sweeping through a forest in springtime.

Branches slid across the granite-speckled skin, gripping and lifting it. The Worm twisted, stabbing again. Vines and creepers looped the tusk from all directions, using its leverage to lock the creature's head. The Worm's mouth opened. More branches caught at the circular lips, pulling them wider and wrestling the creature's head up. Again the maw spurted black smoke, but this time into the air like a whale blowing. The gout drifted back on the breeze, settling slowly. Some vegetation withered, but patches of the Worm's tough hide blistered to an angry red also. The Worm thrashed, hammering the ground and shaking down houses that the Tree's passage had weakened. The branches didn't lose their grip, though, and the long gray body began to stretch. The Worm's tail was still free; it twitched up and slammed repeatedly.

Cashel felt the ground throb to the dull hammerblows well after each stroke, the way thunder follows distant lightning. The Worm tried to coil, dragging part of the Tree along for a distance. The roots dug down to bedrock, scraping up soil in a growing ridge. Even the Worm's strength failed after a time: the motion slowed, then stopped. The Tree's foliage rustled, but for a moment nothing happened; Cashel wondered if maybe Gorand had worn himself out in the grapple too.

Portions of the Tree strained in opposite directions, still holding the Worm like algae to a rock. The long gray body stretched and stretched further. The maw spurted liquid, not the corrosive smoke, and the tail twirled in a desperate spiral instead of drumming the ground. The Worm tore open, pouring out sluggish fluids and fat coils of intestine; Cashel heard a ripping sound like nothing in his experience. The skin at the edges of the tear pulled back. The Worm shrank like a slug which the sun caught on bricks. Though Gorand released it, the gray corpse continued to shrivel. The Tree, still bearing white scars from the battle, reformed itself into a compact mass instead of the hollow circle it'd been here in the enclosure. It walked slowly toward the west. "Isn't it coming back?" Liane asked quietly. Cashel shrugged. "Gorand spent a lot of time in that cabin where we found him," he said. "He's took care of the Worm the way he said he would, but he's holding the coin himself now. I guess he wants to see some of the world, or anyway a part of it that isn't Dariada."

"Warrior Cashel?" said Rasile is a raspy voice. "I said I would tell you when the Warrior Archas neared. He is here now." She pointed her short, hairy arm toward the east side of the enclosure opposite where the Priests' House stood. A big man with a braided blond beard climbed over the pile of rubble. His chest was bare except for leather cross-belts hung with weapons, and he held curved swords in both hands. He crossed the empty ground, drawing circles with his sword-points. "I am Fallin, God of the Sea!" he shouted. "No," said Cashel, stepping into the ruined temple, "you're not." He began to spin his quarterstaff. The butt-caps crackled spirals of blue wizardlight. *** "Put that fish spear down," snapped Ilna to the armored woman, "or I'll take it away from you!" Hili laughed and pointed the trident at Perrin and Perrine, the humans nearest to her. They cringed and clung together, too frightened even to run. Ilna had been poised to reknot the cords whose truth had driven the great ape mad. She threw down the strands of sisal. Everything had suddenly become clear to her; the real pattern stretched in all directions. It was perfectly beautiful-it wasperfect. Everything was obvious, woven into its proper place. She was disgusted with herself not to have understood it before. She began to weave again, not with her hands and not needing anything material to work with. Hili's trident jabbed toward the prince and princess, a motion rather than a real thrust. Black, crackling lightning twisted from its points. The twins flew back screaming, their silken garments smoldering where the sparks had touched them. The armored giant laughed merrily. "You prancing fool,"