Dawn Read Free

really show us what they can do.
    The Mages began to stand, hands maintaining contact with the ground as though stuck there, then slowly they straightened their backs, raising their arms and bringing part of the ground with them. Each hand was lifting a column of fluid stone. The ground vibrated. Rock growled and crumbled, and strange rainbows shimmered in the dust. Angel laughed, and S’Hivez’s muttering became louder, the words revealing themselves as something less complex than a spell. It’s all coming back, he said, again and again.
    Lenora could feel heat from the molten rock, and she saw other Krotes stepping back as their skin stretched and reddened. The Mages began to mold it and, between them, something took shape. Sharp edges appeared from nowhere; curves hardened; a globe of rock rose up on thin stony stilts. Angel laughed again, and Lenora shivered.
    The Mages backed away from each other, allowing the thing room to grow. More rock flowed from the ground, urged on by a simple gesture from S’Hivez, and they molded this around the form, thickening the trunk and lengthening the limbs. They added more, and then S’Hivez stepped back and lowered his hands.
    He looks tired, Lenora thought. They have their magic, but they’re not used to using it. S’Hivez looked at her through the heat haze, and she saw the black pits of his eyes. He scowled. She looked away, skin crawling, scalp tightening as if the old wound there were about to reopen. A thought came, and she could do nothing to hold it back: He can hear me.
    “Lenora!” Angel called. “A present for you, and it will be ready soon.” She pointed at the sea and a huge geyser rose, glinting silver and yellow from the moons’ contrasting light. Krotes scattered as the water fell into a wave, tumbling across the ground until it broke around the glowing sculpture.
    The stone hissed as its framework was suddenly cooled. And as the steam died away, Angel appeared by Lenora’s side. She leaned in close, her breath hot. “It’s yours,” she whispered. “Your machine, your ride, and soon I’ll give it life.” She turned away and surveyed the assembled Krotes. “You’ll all have one! Machines of war, for you to do what you’ve trained for: take Noreela. Soon the ships will be here, and your fellow Krotes will follow you east and south and west. I name every one of you here a captain, and Lenora is your mistress. You answer to her, and she will answer to us. And the rewards at the end of this war will be beyond imagining.” She turned back to Lenora. “I’m giving you my army,” she said. “Use it well. I know your intentions, Lenora. I know your aims.” She came close so that only Lenora could hear what she said. “I know what you hear and what speaks to you, but ignore that calling until you’ve fulfilled your purpose. You’re here for me, and because of me.”
    “Yes, Mistress,” Lenora whispered. Not long to wait, she thought. And she hoped that the shade of her dead child could hear the promise in those words.
    “And now, life for your machine.” Angel walked to the fallen hawk with the dead boy still on its back. She laughed. “Oh, S’Hivez, even you must appreciate the symbolism of this!”
    The Mage laid one hand on the hawk and the other on the dead farm boy’s arm. Beneath her hands, the flesh of both began to shimmer and ripple, and soon the stench of cooking meat once again permeated the air. She moved back slowly, melted flesh flowing like thick honey, then she swiveled and thrust her hands at the sculpture.
    Flesh flew. Blood misted the air as if blown by a sudden gust of wind. Bones cracked and ruptured, impacting the rock, delving inside and crackling as they fused back together. The flesh of the boy and the hawk melded and filled the fighting machine, flooding hollows within its rocky construct, then building layer upon layer around its outside. Blood greased its joints. The dead hawk shrank as more of its flesh was scoured