In that tiny space between one moment of turmoil and the next yet to come, Bardiya was happier than he had been in a very long time.
They sang for an hour, changing from one tune to another while the sun dipped lower in the west. They sang and held each other, their quarrels all but forgotten, even as the sounds of the approaching menace grew more and more present. They sang until a great horn sounded, seemingly ten times louder than a grayhorn’s bleating. Then the song tapered off, and all eyes turned to the edge of the northern wood, waiting, anticipating. Little Keisha continued to hum, the sounds of heavy stomping feet and snapping branches adding a percussive yet ominous backbeat.
A trail of wispy clouds passed over the sun, turning the sky red, as the first horse appeared from within the trees. It was an elf on horseback, his skin a sleek bronze and his hair like black satin, a vest of boiled leather painted green covering a tan jerkin, a khandar dangling from his hip. Bardiya’s mouth twisted in confusion. He had never seen an elf such as this before, for his only association had been with the Dezren in Stonewood, they of the pale milk-white flesh and hair with differing shades of gold. When relations between their races had been amicable, Cleotis Meln had told him tales of the Dezren’s cousins who resided on the other side of the Rigon River. The Quellan, he remembered, and his confusion doubled. What was this one doing so far from home?
Yet it wasn’t just one, for trailing after the initial elf came scores more, both Quellan and Dezren, pouring out of the trees like grains of sand through a sieve, their horses snorting and whinnying. They guided their steeds around the square, encircling the people. There are so many, thought Bardiya. From the trees emerged humans dressed in armor painted black and silver, carrying banners bearing the roaring lion. They lined up in front of the forest, flanked on either side by the elves, and soon the people of Ang were completely surrounded by flesh, leather, and steel.
For a long while no one moved. The elves and soldiers stared at the huddled mass, lips twisted into sneers, a burning desire to do harm showing in their eyes, and though each invader panned the crowd, it seemed their stares always settled on the giant. All sound but the noise of the horses ceased; even the crickets that usually began their sexual dance at the edge of dusk remained quiet.
Bardiya lifted his head. “Sing,” he said loudly, addressing his people. “Show our guests the glory of our love, of our beauty, of our kindness.”
“I truly wish you would not.”
It was a slogging voice, like rocks grinding together underwater. Bardiya took another step forward, looking on as a huge black charger trotted out of formation, approaching him. The charger acted agitated, as if it hated the duty of carrying its rider. That rider was a man of odd shape, the tight black leathers covering his body revealing enormous muscles that bulged and rippled in the wrong places. The man’s head was bald and warped; his chin distended; his eyes, beady red dots beneath a jutting brow. In a way the man looked like Patrick, only more monstrous.
Bardiya swallowed his fear. “Who are you that have come to visit us in our humble village?” he asked. “With whom do the people of Ang have the pleasure of making new friends?”
“Clovis Crestwell, former Highest of Karak.”
Clovis Crestwell? It cannot be. Bardiya had seen Karak’s first child only once, back in his youth, when his father had brought him along to a gathering of the four First Families in the swampland between the Gods’ Bridges. So far as he could recall, Clovis had been a tall and slender man with crystal-blue eyes, long silver hair, and a stately posture. He saw none of that in this bulging man-toad before him.
“You do not look well,” he said.
“Time changes all men,” Clovis replied. There was also that grating, almost inhuman voice to consider. “The last time I laid eyes on you, you were a mere five feet tall.”
“I have grown.”
“Apparently. Very impressive, if I do say so.”
Bardiya stretched his back, trying to appear even taller than his twelve feet.
“And may I ask you, Clovis, what your intentions are in our fair village? We are messengers of peace and love, and have no wish to fight.” He dropped down on one knee, bowing before the strange man and his army. He muttered a silent prayer to himself, his blood racing through his veins, and heard the rest of his people mimicking his actions behind him. “Whatever you desire to do to us, do it. If you wish to kill us all, do so. You will find no resistance here.”
“That is. . unfortunate. And predictable,” said Clovis. The man spurred his charger, and the animal bucked as it made its way around the assembly. “However, I do not wish to kill you.”
More agitated murmurs sounded, only this time it was from those on horseback. Bardiya looked up to see the elves staring back and forth at one another in confusion. Only the human soldiers didn’t seem surprised by the man’s words.
“You do not?” Bardiya asked. “Then why have you come here?”
“Why, we came to take you on a journey,” the man said, his words accompanied by the most wicked laugh Bardiya had ever heard. “Judice, get the chains and bind them. We cannot have anyone fleeing before their time.”
“And where do you plan on taking us?” asked Bardiya, standing once more. Behind him, his people whimpered when armored men carrying chains approached.
“To the tall black crystal in the middle of the desert, my brown colossus.”
Soldiers grabbed Bardiya’s arms. He could easily have thrown them aside, could have effortlessly bashed their skulls with his bare hands, but he stayed his anger and allowed them to bind him.
“The Black Spire?” he asked. “Whatever do you want with us there?”
“To fulfill your purpose,” Clovis answered with a wide, hideous smile. “I need you to bring true beauty back to this world.”
CHAPTER 7
Sunlight shone through the tree branches, lighting up the multicolored crystals that lined the skywalk’s railing. Aullienna Meln took it slow, one foot in front of the other, as she made her way across the plank. The day was certainly a bright one, and filled with joyous sound. Her people scurried about on parallel walkways, calling out to her, cheering her on, yet she felt no relief in the sound. I must enjoy the wonder of it, of them, the young elf told herself. I must, I must, I must. Even though autumn’s chill rode on the wind, even though her world had fallen to shambles around her.
Ever since returning to the Stonewood Forest, nothing had gone right. Their band of elves had been surrounded, her betrothed shot with an arrow, her mother clouted in the face. Aullienna herself had been carried away in a sack, only to be dumped onto the floor of Briar Hall, the court of the Lords of Stonewood. No smiles had greeted her. Instead, she’d been welcomed by a long-lost brother she’d never met, who had been banished from Stonewood long before Aully was born.
I hope you die horribly, Carskel, she thought, hearing the elf’s whisper-soft footsteps behind her. I hope your insides catch fire and your intestines fall out your mouth.
“Stop dawdling,” she heard Carskel say. Something poked into her shoulder blades, and she peered behind her. There stood her brother, tall and slender, with a head of long white-gold hair, flowing satin blouse over gossamer breeches, and his khandar swinging from his hip. He looks so much like father, she thought in despair. The tip of his walking stick was pressed against her back. He smiled, baring his teeth, his eyes twinkling in the slender beams of light that infiltrated the canopy. He seemed so pleased with himself. Just seeing him like that made her hate him all the more.