Cradle of Darkness Read online

  “Here, this one is close to hatching.” Tayem unclipped a wire-mesh door at head height and opened it. “Here it is.”

  “It is smaller than I thought,” Etezora said. In fact the light arctic-blue egg was twice the size of a plains-fowl but compared to the beast Etezora had just seen, it was difficult to believe these wyrms could grow from such a miniature genesis. She looked again at Tayem, observing the wonder and devotion on her face; and if jealousy could be likened to an animal, then at that moment it had become a cobra in Etezora’s heart.

  “Let me hold it,” Etezora said.

  “No, it is not allowed,” Tayem responded, disapproval written on her face — and it was this expression that goaded Etezora to do what she did next. With mischief playing on her painted face, she reached in before Tayem could stop her and grasped the egg with both hands. The warmth of it conducted into her hands, and she swore she detected the movements of the wyrmling within.

  “Etezora,” Tayem exclaimed. “Put it back before you harm it.”

  The daughter of Cuscosa ignored the Dragonian princess and turned with the prized possession cupped in her hands. “Tell me, Tayem,” she said, “our friendship is special is not?”

  “I … yes, of course. You know I enjoy your visits.”

  “But surely it’s more than that? I’m always excited when we spend time together. It’s so boring in our castle listening to my teachers drone on all day, being forced to learn how the court is ruled. The rare hours we spend together are such a blessing. It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

  “Umm. Yes,” Tayem said, sounding far from convinced. “But you must put the egg back. No one is allowed to touch them, let alone a — ”

  “A what?” Etezora exclaimed, the rage building within. “You were about to say commoner weren’t you?”

  “No. You are from the Royal House of Cuscosa. You are as much a royal as I.”

  “That’s what you’re taught to say. But we know that you think yourselves above us.”

  “That is not true. I respect you, Etezora.”

  “Do you respect me more than your dragons?”

  Tayem’s face fell, and Etezora knew from her expression that she would never be held in Tayem’s affections as much as these precious wyrms. A cruel smile cracked Etezora’s face as she held the egg up then let it go.

  She remembered how Tayem’s expression turned from incredulity to horror as the egg fell through the air and smashed on the hard rock floor. The shell shattered into a dozen pieces to reveal the remains of a yolk sac and the struggling, embryonic form of a pale dragon. Not a word was said as they watched its premature form wriggle and writhe, its mouth opening in silent agony.

  Tayem found her voice first. “Etezora, what have you done?”

  The Cuscosian wasn’t quite sure. She couldn’t articulate her motives at the time, but she did remember feeling in control, a sense of being able to manipulate events and the pleasure derived from seeing a living thing in torment. It was not so much the dragon — that was satisfying enough — but the look on Tayem’s face was exquisite. In many ways, mental suffering could be more satisfying than witnessing physical pain.

  “What I have done,” Etezora said, “is shown you how pathetic your dragons really are.”

  She did not see the blow come, but the force and speed of Tayem’s punch felled her like a tree. The humiliation endured while sprawling in the dust of that hated sweltering enclosure remained with her to this day.

  Events followed in rapid succession. Tayem made no attempt to cover for Etezora. The Cuscosian princess was stunned for several minutes, and when she came to she was surrounded by the Dragonian Royal Guard and the concerned faces of her parents.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she heard her father saying. “I demand an explanation!” He addressed his comments to Tayem’s father, forgetting all decorum that it was Jezethorn who ruled. She soon disabused him of this notion.

  “Is this how the House of Cuscosa honours our patronage? By killing a royal dragon?”

  The wyrmling lay dead in the dust. Etezora supposed it had not survived long, exposed and vulnerable, unable to breathe with its underdeveloped lungs.

  “It is simply a paltry egg,” her father said, turning to the matriarch, “but your daughter has assaulted a member of the royal household.”

  Jezethorn might have been but a woman in the Cuscosian king’s eyes, but she was a force he would come to regret provoking. “You do not realise the seriousness of the crime your daughter has committed here. The dragon eggs are sacred, offspring of the gods that fly. You would try to make small of this?”

  The King was taken aback by Jezethorn’s effrontery and his eyes widened. It only took him a moment to recover, however. “I’m sure it was just an accident. You can’t expect — ”

  “That’s not what Tayem told us!”

  “Can we honestly believe the word of a thug?”

  “What did you call her?” Jezethorn’s eyes flashed, and she took a step toward the King, her imposing frame offering an unquestionable threat. The Cuscosian Guard responded immediately by unsheathing their swords and pointing them at Jezethorn. Things escalated from there as the Dragonians lowered spears at the entire entourage, their faces grim and determined.

  “Jezethorn, Cotarth, please. This is no way for royalty to behave.” Zodarin stepped forward, raising a placating hand. “Lower your arms, this matter should be resolved responsibly.”

  The wizard seemed to have a calming presence, despite his bizarre appearance. It was as if a wave of lassitude emanated from him. “May I suggest we refrain from accusations and harsh words?” he said. “Your Majesty, please deliver your complaint by official transcript to the House of Cuscosa.” He spoke directly to Jezethorn, his amber eyes mesmerising in their regard. “We will consider this … affront with due gravity. Equally, there are counter-claims that should be borne in mind. But I’m sure some form of compensation or agreement can be made.

  Jezethorn looked as if she had been caught in a moment of trance as she stared, wide-eyed at the man. Then she shook her head. “How can we have any confidence you will not cover this matter with the dust of speculation and delay? We demand justice.”

  “And it shall be given,” Zodarin said, “but we will gain nothing from a brandishing of weapons. Tempers are running high. Let us resolve this in an amicable manner.”

  He didn’t give Jezethorn a chance to respond but turned to Cotarth, the Cuscosian King. “We should decamp back to Castle Cuscosa. Let the noble Donnephon come to terms with their loss. There is also the matter of Etezora’s wound.”

  Such was the wizard’s mesmerism that Cotarth acquiesced, albeit with some token bluster and protestation.

  Etezora nursed her split lip, accepting a cloth from her mother and noting the expression of smouldering disgust on Tayem’s face as she was guided away from the confrontation.

  Twelve sols later and here she was, the events of that day having determined the fate of their two nations in the intervening time. She stared at her reflection again in the looking glass on the wall, noting the scar on her lip inflicted by Tayem’s cowardly blow. As she touched it, the impact from the punch seemed to impinge itself on her again as if it had only occurred yesterday.

  Soon there will be a reckoning, dragon schjek, and no amount of appeal to your wyrm’s so called godhood will do you any good. She reached for a sliver of darastrix rhyaex and chewed on it slowly. As she did, she imagined it was the belly flesh of Tayem’s wyrm and a frisson of pleasure spread from her tongue to her stomach.

  “My Queen,” said a guttural voice from behind. “The sorceror wishes to speak with you.”

  She turned to see Tuh-Ma’s hunched form loitering at the door. Behind him, the stork-like wizard loomed.

  “What now?” she retorted.

  Zodarin pushed by the blue-skin as if he was inconsequential. “My Queen, I have credible reports of a plot from my sources, it is important that you hear.”

>   “A plot — against me?”

  “Against the whole House of Cuscosa.”

  “The Dragon Riders? They have only just perpetrated an attack on our food supply, and now this? How laughable that they have requested a meeting to discuss a diplomatic way forward.”

  “Strictly speaking, the threat comes from your own people.”

  “What?”

  “An underground movement of dissidents. They plan to strike tomorrow evening.”

  “Where?”

  “The royal store rooms and repository. They have discovered a secret way in and conspire to set light to the buildings.”

  “Pah! They lack the resourcefulness. It is just talk.”

  “Not so, they have enlisted the help of a contingent of Dragon Riders.”

  “Tayem’s doing! Does her effrontery know no bounds?”

  “I believe she knows nothing about it. The conspiracy is aided by her sister, Mahren.”

  Etezora considered Zodarin’s statement, weighing up its import. “So, Tayem has lost control of her close family.”

  “Indeed. But I know who our plotters are, it will be a simple matter to apprehend them.”

  “Then we should do so right away. I will have Eétor take the matter in hand.”

  “Very good, my Queen.”

  The wizard made to leave but Etezora had another question. “I trust our troops’ movements are going ahead as planned?”

  “They are,” Zodarin replied.

  “What word from your spies? Has there been any suspicion raised amongst the Kaldorans and Dragon Riders?”

  “A little. But word will not get back before our planned strike. We will have caught them unawares. But once again, I ask if you are sure you want to provoke the Donnephon at this stage?”

  The Hallows rage crescendoed within. “Do not question my strategy, Zodarin. I have spoken.” As she uttered the words, she felt a compulsion descend, and the crackling of energy in her brain. The wizard’s eyes widened and she sensed an immediate invisible push-back from the man. He dares!

  “My Queen?” He asked, his amber eyes turning a shade of crimson.

  Caught by surprise, Etezora could not answer.

  “Will there be anything else, my Queen?” The wizard invited.

  “I — no. That will be all.”

  The wizard left, leaving a puzzled Tuh-Ma standing in his place. For a creature of limited intelligence, the blue-skin was remarkably perceptive of his Queen’s shifting emotions.

  “You should let Tuh-Ma crush his skull, Mistress. Does he not know his place?”

  Etezora looked benevolently at her loyal servant. “That is very helpful of you Tuh-Ma, but Zodarin is a useful asset at present. I am curious nonetheless. How does he get his information?”

  ~ ~ ~

  A few buildings away, the answer to Etezora’s question was discussed between Eétor and his spy, Grizdoth.

  “The cat has been on the prowl again?” the Praetor asked.

  “Yes,” replied Grizdoth. “The wizard’s powers have clearly gone beyond that of walking in the Dreamworld.”

  “And you say the condition leaves him weakened?”

  “Only temporarily. But the lessening of his power is great. He is vulnerable while recovering.”

  Eétor smiled. “I thought he looked a little peaky this morning. You have done well, Grizdoth. Here, take your payment and keep a close eye on him. Meanwhile I must speak to Etezora about our battle plans.”

  Grizdoth looked out of the window and saw the Queen’s messenger approaching. “It looks like she wants to speak to you too,” he said.

  “Always at her beck and call,” he said with irritation.

  “Your time will come again, Master,” the obsequious man replied.

  “Not soon enough,” Eétor said, “not soon enough.”

  20

  Soul grinder

  There it stood, fully twenty spans high, a gleaming machine made from steel and precious hard woods felled from the flanks of the Dragonian Vale. It barely made clearance against the roof of the reverberant limestone cavern, deep in the heart of Magthrum’s Rockclave chamber.

  It had not been easy transporting such a massive contraption from Cuscosia. Nalin had employed ten of his loyal workmen, and under cover of night, hauled the separate pieces of the tunnelling machine onto carts pulled by mighty rockbulls. These huge woolly beasts, supported by strong backs and legs trekked at a ponderously slow rate, but they could carry ten times their own weight. Nonetheless, five day’s journey was a long time and they were confined to travelling by starlight to avoid detection. Cuscosian troop-movements meant they had to be constantly vigilant for fear of discovery. There was also the risk that Nalin’s absence would be noticed. This was diminished somewhat by the war preparations that seemed to preoccupy the Royal Family; yet even Nalin’s privileged position would not protect him if he had to explain this peculiar train of beast, stonegrabe and machine. Perhaps his days at Castle Cuscosa were numbered given the open hostility Etezora was showing towards Magthrum’s regime. How long before her ambitions moved beyond that of defeating the Donnephon?

  Despite all this, they had arrived safely within the borders of Kaldora, and for days now Nalin’s stonegrabes had meticulously followed the detailed plans the engineer had drawn up. They assembled the large cylindrical body within this cavernous vault, mounting it securely on a chassis of six wheels.

  Now, on this demonstration day, the engineer proudly looked on at his masterpiece. He did not hesitate in naming it his greatest invention. All the more impressive that it had been designed, built and shipped to Kaldora right under the noses of the arrogant Cuscosians, a race too preoccupied with lust for conquest to detect the Kaldoran’s mischief.

  Magthrum had called the machine the ‘cave-crawler’, but in his heart, Nalin had named it after his son, Palimin. Indeed, the name could be found etched discreetly onto the fuselage, just below the conveyer mechanism. It was a fitting tribute. After all, it was during that fortuitous moment, distracted by his son as he spilt the fyredrench, that the crowning moment of his design had been realised.

  “Nalin, we’re waiting,” Magthrum bellowed.

  “Very good, Fellchief,” the startled Nalin said. He observed the throng of stonegrabes assembled in the cavern and realised they extended back fifteen ranks or more — if indeed ‘rank’ was the correct term for such a motley collection of monstrosities. Krut, all of the Regev stronghold must be here. The thought inflated the balloon of his pride still further.

  Nalin cleared his throat and began his lecture. Keep it short and to the point, he reminded himself. These stonegrabes have the attention spans of gnats. “Behold the cave-crawler,” he began. “A noble grinding machine designed to cut a circular tunnel through the Imperious Crescent limestone. Such mining is normally an arduous task for our esteemed regiments of stonegrabes.” He paused at this point and indicated the grime-covered troglodytes shuffling around the machine’s wheels. “I’m sure you will welcome an easing of your hammering and chiselling won’t you?” This was greeted with affirmative grunts and whoops from the mob. Nalin speculated as to their fate. If the unpredictable sub-class could no longer be usefully employed in the mines then what future did they have? I guess they would taste nice served up with a hearty helping of root vegetables.

  Nalin turned his attention back to his overview, stepping up to the front of the cave-crawler. Towering above him, a good twenty spans in diameter was a cutting disc. “This impressive rotating tool is where machine meets native rock, so to speak,” he said, estimating that one could fit three Kaldorans across its width. “As you can see, it is strengthened by these eight steel spokes set into a central hub. But their function isn’t just that of support. Diamond-cutting heads are set in each spoke at regular intervals. As it turns and grinds against the rock-face, the collapsing rubble falls through the disc spokes into this large funnel. This in turn channels the material onto a conveyer belt turned by cables which carry the
rock to the rear of the machine here.” Nalin was walking alongside the huge length of the cave-crawler as he explained how it worked. He was warming to the task, unable to contain his enthusiasm for the creation. He finished his stroll along the side of the machine pointing out a series of gears and pulleys that were turned by a massive central crank attached to a flywheel.

  “Very good,” Magthrum said, “but what is that device containing the hoses strapped behind the cutting disc?”

  “This,” Nalin replied “is what makes the cave-crawler truly revolutionary. These tanks contain fyredrench!”

  This announcement drew gasps of surprise and awe from the crowd.

  “Dragon-spit?” Magthrum said, his eyes narrowing. “You would make use of such a vile fluid?”

  Nalin realised he’d touched on a raw nerve of his Fellchief. The stonegrabe hated anything to do with the wyrms. “Wait until you see what it does,” he interjected quickly. “Efficient excavation is best achieved through a combination of mechanical and chemical attrition. I have diluted the concentrated fyredrench into a thin corrosive liquid that can be sprayed from two hoses mounted within the central hub of the cutting disc. As the disc-turning crank rotates, a series of gears drives two pumps which spray corrosive dragon-spit onto the rock in front of the machine. The effect is to weaken the rock sufficiently, allowing the grinding disc to easily progress through the rock strata.”

  “Mmm,” Magthrum said, sounding far from convinced, “fyredrench is expensive stuff. Is there enough of a supply for our needs?”

  “That’s where having access to Etezora’s illicit dragon pens pays off.”

  Magthrum looked genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t aware the Cuscosians bred the wyrms.”

  Nalin laughed. “They cannot master their behaviour, but apparently dragon meat is a delicacy.”

  Magthrum nodded. “Perhaps we needn’t have drugged Tayem’s wyrms after all — not when exposing the Cuscosians’ appetites was all we needed to do.”