Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

stylish, his manner elegant, his eyes bright and honest.

Malat instantly knew that whatever news he brought, it wasn”t going to be good.

An approaching tide of death?

Georgdi waved aside all formalities and offers of refreshment, pulling out a chair and

sitting at the table without waiting for an invitation.

“We”re in trouble,” he said, his well-modulated voice as elegant as the rest of his

appearance.

“So you have come to surrender,” Fulmer said.

Malat closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience.

“All of us are in trouble,” said Georgdi, ignoring Fulmer and looking between Sirus and

Malat, instinctively knowing the better men at the table even before Fulmer had opened his mouth. “And all our families besides. Many of them will already be dead. Our petty little battles

must be forgotten in the face of what approaches.” He turned, gesturing to the disheveled and

exhausted man who”d entered with him and who now took a step forward.

“This man is Jelial,” said Georgdi. “Lord Warden of the Eastern Plains Province of

Gershadi. Fulmer, you know him, surely? Yes, well. Jelial”s hometown is Hornridge. He

staggered into my camp late last night. Jelial?”

“I have been running south for these past six weeks,” Jelial said, and the three kings went

cold at the sound of his voice, because it echoed with hopelessness, “trying to keep ahead of

death.”

“Oh, for gods” sakes, man,” said Malat, rising from his seat, “what have you to tell us?”

“Several million Skraelings are approaching,” said Jelial, his voice still dead. “They ate

their way through Hornridge. No one survived.”

Jelial looked at Fulmer. “Hosea is no more. Everyone, everyone, is dead. And as they

come farther south, as they feed, they are growing stronger, larger…different. Gods, sometimes I

have caught glimpses of some of them who bore the heads of jackals! The creatures are now

streaming toward Pelemere. They are perhaps a day away, maybe two if you”re lucky. Get

everyone out. Get them out!”

“Nothing will stop the Skraelings,” said Georgdi in a tone as casual and even as if he

were discussing the arrangements for a breakfast. “I know Skraelings. I fought them with Evenor

in Viland. They are murderous in bands of a few score, and almost impossible in bands of a few

hundred. Millions? Let alone the millions of what Jelial describes? I am not even going to

attempt to stay and fight on these plains. You are welcome to your Pelemere and your Central

Kingdoms, gentlemen. Within minutes I am going to rise from this chair and ride back to my

army, which I shall gather about me and with all haste ride, flee, back into the Outlands, which I

can either hope the Skraelings will ignore, or where we might have some chance of containing

them in the passes between the FarReach Mountains and the Sky Peaks. What you do is your

choice. If you decide to abandon your kingdoms—which, frankly I advise, because you stand no

chance against these Skraelings—then you may flee with me. The more of us there are to battle

the Skraelings in the mountain passes, if it comes to that, the more hope we have of standing firm

against them.”

Fulmer, Malat, and Sirus stared at him. For the moment none of them could speak.

“You have lost your kingdoms,” Georgdi said, his voice now softer. “By the end of this

week they will have vanished beneath a seething tide of death. Get who and what you can out

now. You have a day, two at the most. Sit there and gape if you wish, but, frankly, I”d be

moving.”

With that he pushed his chair back and rose. “I don”t have time to linger here. My armies

spent the night packing, we will be gone by midmorning.”

“It”s all lies,” Fulmer said, white with shock.

“No,” Malat said quietly, “it isn”t.”

“The Skraelings?” said Sirus. “Millions? What is happening? They”ve never come this

far south before. And in such numbers…What in the world are they doing?”

“They are led by a man called Lister,” said Jelial. “He styles himself the Lord of the

Skraelings. His Skraelings are swarming south. Migrating. My lords, I beg you. Flee. Flee.”

“I do not think news can come much worse than this,” said Georgdi. “I think—”

“News can get worse,” said a voice from the window, accompanied by a blast of cold air.

Everyone leapt to their feet, turning to face the intruder.

An Icarii man was balanced on the window ledge, one hand still on the shutters which

he”d opened.

“My name is BroadWing EvenBeat,” the Icarii man said. He jumped down to the floor,

spreading his hands to show he was unarmed. “And I did not think I would survive to get this

far.”

“What news?” said Georgdi.

“Isaiah, Tyrant of Isembaard,” said BroadWing, “has just led an army of a million men or

more out of the Salamaan Pass into the Outlands. Adab has fallen. They are allied, I think, this

Lister and Isaiah. And we”—he gestured, taking in everything from Hosea to the FarReach

Mountains—“are all but dead, for there is nowhere to flee.”

“How do you know this?” Georgdi said.

“For weeks I have been looking about the FarReach Mountains, scouting for Maximilian,

who entered Isembaard,” BroadWing said. “My companions and I had reached the eastern parts

of the mountains when another Icarii warned us.”

“What in the world is Maximilian doing in Isembaard?” Fulmer said.

“I don”t think any of us have time for that story right now,” BroadWing said.

CHAPTER SIX

The Sky Peak Passes

Malat had always thought he would not fear death when it came, but would accept it

with courage and honor.

Of course, he”d never envisioned a death like this.

It was not just that death beckoned, or that death strode through the snow toward him, but

that it was taking so damned long about it. The continuing terror, day after day, week after week,

was not something Malat had ever thought to endure, and it had sapped his courage and honor

and fortitude.

They”d fled Pelemere with Georgdi. Not everyone came. At least half the population of

the city had refused to believe that a sea of Skraelings seethed down toward them—and who

could blame them for disbelieving? They”d stayed, despite desperate shouted warnings, and now

they were dead.

Malat remembered how, three hours after riding out of Pelemere, he”d pulled his horse to

a halt and looked back.

Pelemere should have been clearly visible—a black blot on a hill in the middle of a vast

plain.

Instead it had vanished beneath an undulating river of gray.

Skraelings.

Eating.

Malat, as all those who”d pulled their horses to a halt with him and looked back, could

not quite comprehend what he saw. He could not imagine that number of Skraelings; of any

creature. He”d sat his horse, his mouth agape, and stared, and it was only a few minutes later,

when one of his men screamed, that he”d looked to his north.

A wave of Skraelings was less than five hundred paces away, and approaching fast.

Thus began the nightmare. Almost three weeks of constant battling, of bunching together,

of fighting, of running, running, running eastward as fast as they could. Malat estimated that

between Georgdi, Fulmer, Sirus, and himself, they”d escaped Pelemere with two hundred

thousand people—both soldiers and civilians. Now Malat would be surprised if there were any

more than fifteen thousand left.

Fulmer was dead, lost that first day.

Sirus also, lost a week later when his horse stumbled and then collapsed as a score of

Skraelings swarmed over it.

The only reason any of them were still alive was because the bulk of the Skraelings were

still to the west. Eating, Malat supposed; feeding through the Central Kingdoms toward Kyros.

Sometimes, when he managed to snatch a few minutes” rest, Malat would weep, thinking

of his wife and remaining children, of all those he loved sitting in Kyros, not understanding that

within days, weeks at the most, they would be eaten by these damned…damned…

Malat wanted to die. He wanted to succumb to the Skraelings” teeth, to their claws, their

hunger.

But always, every time they faced renewed attack, something in Malat forced him to take

up the sword again, and wield it, and somehow survive.

For another day.

They were in the western reaches of the Sky Peak Passes now. Georgdi, still alive and

somehow still in control, still hopeful, said that if they could reach a gorge he knew of a few

days” travel ahead, then they would have a chance. It had a narrow mouth, apparently, and they

could defend themselves more easily there.

Malat didn”t really care anymore. He put one foot in front of the other, or sat his horse

staring sightlessly ahead as it somehow managed to put one foot ahead of the other, and he

forced food and water down his throat as needed, and he wrapped himself against the