“You arrogant horse’s arse,” Faedryth retorted angrily. “I built the original instrumentality of which you speak, I did. It was designed by a man who had more genius in the clippings of his toenails than is present in your entire kingdom, even with the presence of the Lady Cymrian. And it was an unwise thing to do. You do not understand the risks that you are undertaking; if it were only your wretched kingdom that was in the balance, you could blow yourself to smithereens for all I care, along with your entire miserable population. But alas, your ineptitude and indiscretion may spell disaster and doom for all of us—all of us. And I do not intend to see that happen.”
“Well, hooray for thee,” replied the Bolg king. “Contrary to what you may believe, Faedryth, I do not intend to see that happen, either.”
“It is precisely that you believe that you know what you’re doing that makes you so dangerous, Achmed,” said Faedryth. “That really does not surprise me.” He turned to Rhapsody. “As for you, m’lady, I am disappointed to discover that you are part of this. I would’ve thought you had better sense.”
“I am here precisely to lend my knowledge of lore to this project, in the hopes of ensuring its success,” Rhapsody said flatly. “And, quite frankly, Your Majesty, I am insulted by your assumptions about both the Bolg king and me. Rude as we all may be to one another, we are still allies.”
Faedryth exhaled, and looked suddenly older.
“Please reconsider,” he said less stridently this time. “You do not know what you are risking.” Achmed finally looked up. He threw the quill he had been using to scribble notes on Rhapsody’s drawings onto the table, and walked over to the much shorter man. He looked down into the Nain king’s broad face, studying it for a moment, then took down the veils that shielded his own nose and mouth from the stings of the world’s vibration. “Hear me,” he said quietly. “You would not even be aware of my rebuilding of the Lightcatcher if you did not now have one of your own, which you use to spy on my lands. I know two things very much better than you do, Faedryth. First, unlike you, I understand how this magic works, or at least Rhapsody does. I know that the incarnation of it that you possess threatens to wake a sleeping child that dwells within the Earth.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on the Nain king’s face. “Yes, Your Majesty, in spite of what you believe, there are others in this world who understand its lore as well if not better than you do. If I did not feel the need to have its power available to me in order to prevent something irreversible from happening, I would not be wasting my time; there are, after all, so many innocent villages of humans to raid, so many fat, adorable youngsters to feed upon. “Second, and far more significant, is this—I have actually seen what it is you fear to waken, Faedryth; with my eyes I have seen it. And if you fear that your puny ministrations with powers you don’t understand are justified, allow me to set you straight; the Nain would be the first to be consumed should that Sleeping Child be awakened. It will come up from the depths of the earth beneath the mountains, following the heat of the river of fire, and swallow everyone in your kingdom whole before it consumes the rest of the world. So trust me when I say that I’m not listening to your wisdom, but to my own on this matter. Now get out of my mountains and go back to your own. We are not in need of your counsel here.” The Nain king stared at him with undisguised astonishment that melted a moment later into black fury. He walked over to Rhapsody and placed the velvet pouch in her hands. “I have to say, m’lady, that while your friend’s abominable rudeness does not shock me in the least, I’m appalled at you. If anyone should know the dangers of toying with elemental lore, I would think it would be a Lirin Namer.”
“Again, no one is toying with anything here, Your Majesty,” Rhapsody said. “And I do apologize for Achmed’s impoliteness. But what is unfolding is beyond the bounds of normal discretion now; we need every tool at our disposal to safeguard the mountains and those that live within them, as well as all die other members of the Alliance. Sorbold is gearing for war, and the holy city of Sepulvarta appears to be in its sights. I hope that when the time arrives, if you are needed you will come.”
“I suspect this is the last time you’ll ever see me, m’lady,” said the Nain king bitterly. “We retreated once to our lands because of the greed and selfishness and stupidity of a male and female ruler in this place. I had hoped to never see such a situation again, but alas, history appears to be repeating itself. May you not bring about the destruction you seek to avoid in the very process of doing so.”
He turned on his heel and strode from the throne room, slamming the great gold doors behind him. The sound waves reverberated through the room, showering dust from the columns that held up the ceiling.
“What’s in the bag?” Grunthor asked after me noise had died away. Rhapsody loosed the string and opened the bag. Within it was a small hinged box of solid gold. She lifted the lid to find it was lined in black ivory, a dead rock formation that was said to be implacable to all methods of scrying.
Lying within it was a single scrap of brittle material, filmy and translucent. She picked it up gingerly, and suddenly felt as if the world had ended around her. “I’ve no idea,” she said.
40
The last place that Achmed took the Dhracian was down to the ruins of the Loritorium, an unfinished repository that Gwylliam had intended to use to house the artifacts of ancient lore in his collection. It had been built deep in the belly of the mountains, at the base of a tunnel whose only entrance was in the Bolg king’s chambers.
This was because on an altar of Living Stone in the center of that unfinished repository slept the Child of Earth, the middle child of the prophecy.
He and Rath stood over her catafalque, staring down at her. The child was as tall as a full-grown human, her face that of a child, her skin cold and polished gray, as if she were sculpted from stone. She would have, in fact, appeared to be a statue but for the measured tides of her breath.
Below the surface of filmy skin her flesh was darker, in muted hues of brown and green, purple and dark red, twisted together like thin strands of colored clay. Her features were at once coarse and smooth, as if her face had been carved with blunt tools, then polished carefully over a lifetime. Beneath her indelicate forehead were eyebrows and lashes that appeared formed from blades of dry grass, matching her long, grainy hair. In the dim light the tresses resembled wheat or bleached highgrass cut to even lengths and bound in delicate sheaves. At her scalp the roots of her hair grew green like the grass of early spring. Achmed recalled his first sight of her, and what the woman who had tended to her, the last surviving member of a nearby Dhracian colony called the Grandmother, had said about her. She is a Child of Earth, formed of its own Living Stone. In day and night, through all the passing seasons, she sleeps. She has been here since before my birth. I am sworn to guard her until after Death comes for me. So must you be.
He had taken the words to heart, probably more than he had ever done in his life before. “She is much smaller and more sickly than when last I beheld her,” said Rath. “The bastard emperor who is gearing up for war has been harvesting the last remaining Living Stone from a basilica in Sorbold called Terreanfor.” Rath nodded; he knew the place well. “Perhaps that is what is taking its toll on her.”