A God's Plea (Legend of Tal: Book 4) Page 2

  Even having experienced all that the Song was capable of, he disbelieved his own words when he reported on his progress each day. Of when he killed a wide swath of the garden, only to resurrect it again. Of breaking the marble bench on which he sat, then mending it. But it wasn't the effects he enacted that were most miraculous to him, but what he heard within that aria. Once odious to behold, it was now harmonious as it filled his mind. He'd touched upon the melodies woven through it and begun to understand how little he understood. But it was a foundation, a beginning.

  And he knew enough to hear the Singers.

  Their songs were small compared to the Worldsong, and it had been a great while since it had swallowed them. But as Garin spent long hours listening, he differentiated the dragon songs from the greater whole. They ran parallel to the Worldsong, but in their own distinct chorus. They were entities to themselves, apart from the material, above it.

  Slowly, Garin realized the mastery that dragons possessed over sorcery. It only evoked more questions.

  How could they fade from the World? How can Ilvuan lack a body? How could any mortal, be they Origin or elf, overcome their power?

  He recalled the tale Ilvuan had told him. The ava'duala had sacrificed themselves in facing down the Three — the Whispering Gods, as the Singer had identified them. They'd restrained the Three's mighty power through the surrender of their own lives. And so dragons had disappeared from the face of the World for millennia.

  Yet they hadn't died.

  Garin heard them calling out to the World and commanding it. What their songs meant and what they forged by them, he didn't know. His grasp was rudimentary, his hearing keen enough only to comprehend his ignorance. Yet he'd seen Ilvuan enact his will upon the World, using Garin as a conduit. Though he was a spirit now, and a ghost of his former glory, he'd retained strength enough to challenge devils and save Garin on multiple occasions.

  And dragons existed not only next to the Worldsong. Garin had found dragon essence in the black stone bracers that had restrained his and his companions' sorcery, as well as in the hearts of the Soulstealer Hashele's golems. They'd been fueled by the shadows of dragons, and had nearly killed them, until Garin set the dragon souls free.

  He knew much more now than he had then. Months of listening had complicated and broadened his knowledge. But he was only one youth, just sixteen summers old. There were limits to what he could learn, even as he dedicated many of his waking hours toward that knowledge.

  He craved the moments when his guide returned to him.

  As he felt the welling up of Ilvuan's song in his mind, Garin eagerly turned his thoughts back inward. The dragon he'd once believed to be a devil, possessing him from a cursed necklace, was now a trusted companion. He thought he had the measure of his character, just as Ilvuan had grown to respect him.

  Yet he could never fully predict the dragon's whimsies. He came and went as he pleased, and during Garin's stay at the Sun Palace, it had been infrequent that he visited. Garin knew only a little of why he stayed away, that it had something to do with a rift between the Singers, those who supported Yuldor and those, like Ilvuan, who opposed him. But regarding that conflict, the dragon remained close-lipped.

  Still, Ilvuan was an ally, if not a friend. Garin extended feelings of greeting toward him before he noticed the dragon's mood.

  It is time, Ilvuan announced with less sentiment. His song was full of gnashing teeth and beating wings and the roar of fire.

  Garin guessed his meaning. War?

  Impatience, like the lashing of a tail, filtered through the other sounds. War has been with us for all the time I have lingered. No, Jenduit. It is your task, too long delayed, that must be completed.

  My task. The cold wave that poured through Garin came not from Ilvuan, but from himself. You'll have to tell me what that is first.

  Amusement curled through his mind like a lazy hiss of smoke from nostrils. You have always known what it is.

  Defeating Yuldor. It was the only thing Garin could imagine it could be.

  That is only the second part, and not one you are likely to accomplish. Before the Pretender's defeat can matter, you must perform another duty first.

  Don't leave me in suspense.

  Ilvuan didn't immediately respond. His song recalled to mind a leisurely flight through the sky: the wind whistling past his ears, his flapping wings pushing aside the air, the feeling of nothing above or below him…

  Sensations rushed over him and became real.

  Garin stared with wide-eyed wonder at the land suddenly displayed below him. The wind pressed cold against his scales, but it couldn't touch his inner warmth. The air under his wings brought faint traces of prey to his nostrils: here a forest-rangy deer, there a pasture-fattened cow. Bright green land rolled over hills and forests and plains for miles in every direction.

  He flew in a dragon dream.

  Where are we? Garin asked.

  Where the capital now sits. Ilvuan's rumbling response vibrated through the chest of his memory-body. This is before Yuldor's dominion, when mortals were not the rulers of the lands, but were kept in their place.

  Garin sat with that realization. This was a glimpse of a long-past era, and he was perhaps the only living mortal to experience it. The thought was both terrifying and humbling.

  Ilvuan apparently sensed his mixture of emotions, for his chest rumbled with the impression of amusement. He had no choice but to accept the dragon's derision.

  Why are you showing me this?

  Look, and you will see.

  A blink, and the terrain shifted. Where there had been greenery, now golden sand dominated the view. The desert ended as abruptly as it began, and a shining blue sea asserted itself along the coast. Poking up from the water and sand were pillars of dark stone, like the grasping fingers of a giant buried just under the surface.

  The sea?

  We are nearly there.

  Though curiosity gnawed at him, Garin held his thoughts in check until at last Ilvuan tilted downward. Looking through the dragon's eyes, which were far keener than his own, he saw the changes wrought over this section of the land. Black rock and sediment had replaced the sand. The pillars that had jutted up erratically were now a forest. Further inland, the sable stone mounded into hills and squat mountains. No vegetation seemed able to survive the desolation.

  More riveting still was the orange river pouring into the sea. Garin stared at the lava, fascinated. Where the river of fire met the ocean, vast clouds of white steam rose up, and the flames died below the water's surface as the molten sludge turned to stone.

  Ilvuan circled down slowly until the black land neared, then he alighted upon it near where the waves broke against the fingers. Garin watched through his eyes as he moved his massive bulk, swaying with each step, along the rock to a cave opening that barely looked as if it would fit him. The dragon had to fold in his wings and bend his grand head, but he managed to slither inside, like a snake entering its burrow.

  A sharp reprimand stung Garin. Not a snake, Ilvuan reminded him with prickly pride.

  But Garin's resentment only lasted a moment. Their dragon eyes lifted the depths of the darkness, though their surroundings were leeched of all color except hues of red that seemed to be strongest over living things and almost nonexistent over the stone. Not that there were many living things to see; even bugs seemed absent from the cavern. He wondered if the strange glyphs that glowed overhead were responsible for it.

  Ilvuan sauntered down the tunnel until he reached a vast chamber large enough for him to spread his wings, then swept their gaze across it. Oval objects, each roughly the size of a human, were scattered about the cave, each possessing a red glow. There were hundreds of them, stretching back around the rocks and out of sight.

  Garin had barely formed his query before Ilvuan answered it.

  This is the Sha'aval, the ava'duala hatching place. This is where our lives once began, and will begin once more.

  It took a moment for the revelation to sink in.

  You were born here? And those things — they're eggs? Dragon eggs?

  A somber assent filled Garin's being, and Ilvuan rumbled in their chest like distant thunder. When we flew with the Night against the Three, we left behind this place full of our progeny, prepared to inhabit them upon our rebirths. But resurrection never came. Forced to stay to repress the rift in the World, lest it destroy all, our eggs remained behind, unoccupied. Yet a dragon's egg is not easily destroyed. Its shell is as hard as stone, and no natural beast can break it open.

  But someone did, Garin guessed.

  The cave echoed with Ilvuan's anger. Even without our essence, our eggs possess a measure of ava'dual might. When the Pretender learned of this place, he sent his followers here, and they butchered the eggs for their own purposes. From them, they formed bracelets such as his servants use to disguise their identities, and the bracers to repress your sorcery, and the hearts of the clay giants. They stole them, broke them apart, and have slowly whittled down our hopes of ever returning to this World. Mere dozens remain now. Only as long as our eggs exist may we retake our rightful place.

  Garin was silent as he absorbed the Singer's words. He hadn't thought about the origins of dragons, having been preoccupied with the mystery of their disappearance and how Ilvuan lingered on as a spirit despite their extinction. Now, he grasped after the intersection with his own life.

  You wish me to go here, to this hatching place? This is the first part of my task?

  Approval washed over him, scalding with its fervor.

  Why? he queried, then quickly corrected himself. Of course I will go, if I can reach it. But what do you wish me to do there?

  Ilvuan looked again around the cave, over the countless unhatched dragons that were long absent from the World. Before, it was the Protectress who prepared a hatching. In her absence, you and I must do what we can.

  Garin tried to decide if it was anticipation or apprehension rising within him. The dragons will return?

  Suddenly, Ilvuan raised his head and screamed at the roof of the cavern. It was deafening even tucked inside Ilvuan's dream-body, but full of more than just sound. Sorcery rent the air, splitting and tearing it apart. A dragon's sorrow was a hollowing fire, and Garin burned just to witness it.

  When he'd finished, Ilvuan lowered his head to stare sullenly at one egg. We will return, he told Garin with quiet conviction. You will help us, Jenduit. This is what you were named for, Mender. This is why I chose you. You will repair the wounds wrongfully dealt to all the ava'duala, and to the World by consequence.

  Garin kept his reservations carefully tucked within himself, only allowing his agreement to radiate outward. Part of him did long for Ilvuan and his kin to return. For all the trouble the Singer had caused him, trust had grown between them. Reborn, he couldn't imagine that Ilvuan would do anything but uphold the same morality he'd shown thus far.

  Yet dragons were forces unto themselves, if his Singer was any sign. Resurrecting the species would remake the World as thoroughly as Yuldor had. He couldn't do such a thing lightly.

  If I have any choice in the matter.

  Outwardly, he only expressed, I'll do as you've asked, Ilvuan. But I have to know something.

  The dragon lowered his head to an egg and nudged it gently with his nose. The egg tilted in its stone cradle, but only minutely. Ask, and I will answer.

  Why did you choose me? Was it an accident from taking the cursed pendant? Or had you always chosen me?

  No. I never planned to bond with you, Jenduit, nor did you have your name until we joined.

  A vast silence stretched between them. Garin waited.

  It is because of Heartblood, the dragon answered at last. You were close to him, and he has always been critical to the task. But I was only convinced when you showed your resolve by resisting me.

  In the Ruins of Erlodan? Before Soltor?

  The dragon rumbled his assent. You displayed a loyalty and strength worthy of a Listener. Our connection was established through the pendant, but it was only then that I claimed you as more than a temporary tool.

  Garin tried not to feel offense at the dragon's callousness. It served as a potent reminder. As close as he and Ilvuan had grown, a gulf would always remain between them.

  But that wouldn't do for a response. Garin tried to think of something to say.

  Thank you for your… honesty.

  With a disdainful huff, Ilvuan eyed the hatching grounds one last time, then turned his bulk and headed for the exit of the chamber. As he did, the dream started to fray, the darkness peeling back to reveal the brightness pressing against Garin's eyelids.

  Do not delay, Jenduit, the Singer said, his voice fading with the dream. The war has come, and time is short. Your task awaits.

  As abruptly as he'd come, Ilvuan departed.

  It took Garin a moment to adjust to being back in his own body. Fluttering his eyelids open, he sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled. The Song, which had faded in the dream, again curled through his mind. With an ease attained through practice, he cut himself off from it and heard once more only the quietness of the gardens.

  The war has come.

  Garin stood and stretched with a yawn. If their time taking advantage of Emperor Zyrl's hospitality was ending, Garin had many things to be about.

  Including deciding if he should loose dragons upon the World.

  "Don't let a fly get in!"

  Garin startled and spun toward the speaker, though he knew who it was even before he saw him.

  "Sneaking about again, Tree Frog?"

  Rolan grinned and bounded up to stand before him. "No — I'm helping! Wren wants to dance."

  For a moment, he only stared at the boy. Then comprehension set in.

  "Right — that dancing."

  Garin mulled over it for a moment. They might not have much more of a reprieve, and after what Ilvuan had revealed, a conversation with Aelyn in particular seemed prudent.

  But he still had time, and considering there would be plenty of fighting ahead of them, scraping off some of the rust on his swordplay was just as necessary.

  Garin placed a hand on Rolan's shoulder and turned him around. "Lead the way, then."

  THE CALL TO ARMS

  "I should say I could never grow used to this," Falcon murmured in Tal's ear, "but I think I rather have."

  Tal flashed him a smile. "You're the Court Bard to the King of Avendor — or were, at any rate. If anyone has a right to be comfortable in a throne room, it's you."

  "Ah, my storied friend, but what is a king's castle next to an emperor's estate?" Falcon raised his arms and gestured around the chamber. "Such wonders I could write of this palace!"

  "About as wondrous as the wonders themselves," commented Helnor, who walked next to them.

  Tal grinned wider as Falcon pretended offense at the tall elf's comment. Though the bard had grown thinner and more serious during their months of privation, he had recovered much of his old humor during their stay at the palace.

  And his belly, besides.

  Helnor, too, had gained back something of his former self. With months spent eating and training next to the palace guards along with Wren, he looked to have never suffered at the hands of the Ravagers. Yet there was a haunted look in his eyes that never seemed to fade, no matter how hard he laughed.

  "Can anything be as miraculous as the sung word, my good Prime?" Falcon answered the Warder. "Surely even a fighting man like you can appreciate a stirring anthem!"

  "I would appreciate some decorum, personally," broke in Ashelia, the last of their group. A twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her true feelings.

  Tal took her in. She'd put care into her appearance for their meeting that day and wore an emerald dress nearly as resplendent as those from her old wardrobe in Elendol. Her hair was artfully plaited, and a necklace glittered above her low neckline. Yet it was none of these trappings that caught his eye, but a general glow that seemed to radiate out from her, like she swelled with vitality. She had suffered along with the others, yet Ashelia once more proved she was the toughest among them.

  Let no one speak ill of healers and mothers, Tal thought with a smile.

  Their banter had nearly carried them to the end of the throne room, its opulence largely ignored for all their talk of it. They'd spent enough afternoons arguing in the hall for the grandeur to lose its shine. Only as they reached their benefactor did Tal look up.

  Sitting on the throne was the second most powerful man in the East, if not the whole of the continent. Zyrl Netherstar, the Sun Emperor of the Eastern Empire, twitched in his over-sized chair as he grinned down at them. Tal had to admit the Emperor was nothing like he'd imagined him to be. First was his being a gnome, with the diminutive stature of his kind. Second, he was no puffed-up monarch like Aldric, nor dignified as Geminia had been, but was his own brand of sovereignty. He smiled often and cackled when the mood struck him. He never seemed to remain still, but moved like a bee in a flower garden. For all the richness of his robes, the seven-pointed sun painted upon his face, and the glistening crown atop his head, Tal could have easily imagined meeting the man in a tavern and sharing an ale with him — and what was more, enjoying their conversation.

  As far as rulers went, Zyrl wasn't half-bad in Tal's book.

  "My Westreach friends!" the Emperor greeted them, his short arms spreading wide, the voluminous sleeves of his robe flapping. "Welcome, welcome!"

  Around Tal, his companions bowed to pay their respects to the Sun Emperor, but Tal refrained. To kneel before a man was to surrender one's equality with them, and that was something he valued above title and talent.

  "You are just in time," the Emperor continued, his eyes alight with mischief. No doubt he noted Tal's lack of respect, as he did every time, but the good-natured ruler didn't point it out. "May I present to you my most loyal minotaur, Lady Rozana of Haudden."

  Tal had noticed the others standing around the throne, including the minotaur, a rare sight even in the Eastern palace. But having grown used to a retinue attending the Emperor, he'd learned to ignore the numerous strangers. A rebellion they might be plotting, but the organization of an empire necessitated the spreading of secrets like wildfire. Scribes, marshals, and councilors abounded around Zyrl, and Tal and his companions had been forced to swallow the risks.