Wizardborn

Chapter 1 TONGUES OF LIGHTNING Truth is stronger than many armies, and the wicked shall fall before it. A proverb of the Ah'kellah Night had fallen in earnest while the Brotherhood of the Wolf rode south, but when the warriors reached Carris there was light to see by. An inferno blazed in a stone tower, its roof and inner chambers incandescent, as if it were a giant torch. Watch fires licked the city walls. Lightning split the night on the southern horizon, like the flickering tongue of a serpent that spoke words of thunder. The riders let their horses race the last two miles, harnesses and armor jangling. Of the forty lords in the retinue, only three had brought lances. They rode point, lest they should come upon a reaver in the darkness. Ash mingled with rain so that mud pummeled them from the sky with the weight of mercury. It oozed through Myrrima's cloak. As the riders crested the hill above the Barrens Wall, the men around Myrrima gasped in amazement. "See there!" one cried. He pointed to the yawning pit from which the world worm had risen. It looked like a small volcanoa cone two hundred yards across and three hundred high. Steam billowed from its crown. Only fires lit the scene. Yet with the endowments of sight, smell, and hearing that Myrrima had recently taken, everything seemed preternaturally clear. Myrrima had taken endowments only yesterday. She could still almost hear the yelps of pain from the pups as they gave their sight and hearing to her. Myrrima's heart pounded. She wondered if the worm might still be about, but saw no sign of a worm trail. It had retreated into the hole from which it had sprung. It was hard to comprehend the devastation, to try to imagine the battle that had taken place here. Gaborn had driven his troops to Carris, heeding the Earth's summons, believing that he would find the city besieged by Raj Ahten's troops. Instead he'd found Raj Ahten surrounded by a ghastly horde of reavers, trapped. He'd used his newfound powers as Earth King to summon a world worma beast of legendfrom the Earth's core to dislodge the reavers. The aftermath of that battle would be sung for a thousand years, Myrrima felt sure. The carnage took her breath away. To the south lay a field of dead reavers, enormous and black in the darkness, their wet carapaces gleaming in the wan light as if they were a plague of dead frogs. Men and women swarmed among them, torches in hand. The plains were terribly broken and uneven, pocked with thousands of burrows. Squads of troops armed with spears and battle-axes were searching every nook for live reavers. But not all of the people out there were warriors. Some were coming from the city to cart off the dead and woundedmothers looking for sons, children hunting for parents. A reaver suddenly lunged from a burrow three quarters of a mile away, and out on the plain screams arose with the blaring of warhorns. The reaver charged straight for a knot of footmen. Knights on chargers galloped to intercept the monster. "By my father's honor," shouted one lord of Orwynne, "there's still reavers about! This battle's not won yet!" The lords spurred their mounts down to what was left of the Barrens Wall. Beneath its arch, beside a bonfire, a dozen footmen huddled beneath muddy capes with hands wrapped around their longspears. "Halt!" they called as the lords approached. A couple of guards struggled up. They wore mismatched armor, marking them as Knights Equitable. Their bright eyes reflected the firelight. Jubilantly their leader shouted, "Most of the reavers are in a routfleeing south tFarland, David is the author of 'Wizardborn', published 2002 under ISBN 9780812570700 and ISBN 0812570707.