Free Wasteland King by Lilith Saintcrow Page B

the knife-sharp cliffs above the Keep and along the jagged teeth of the mountains that held the rest of the land from sliding deeper into the Veil the great wyrms stirred in their hot slumbers, the smaller ones slithering for the mouths of their caves, their blunt or fringed or narrow noses lifted to test the cold, clear breeze. The Fell Moragh and the Harrhall, the deep luminescence-coated tangle of the drow barrowtown of Usnaragh, and the stones of the ancient doorways into the mortal world, blood-refreshed at every hunt, jumped with tiny specific movements, thudding back into place as the sound-unsound settled into a reverberation felt in tooth-root and marrow.
    Did you hear that?
    The sidhe whispered among themselves. Naiads, their long hair raveling on the surface of sea or river, pond or lake, bent their pretty heads together. Dryads gathered in knots, hushed, and for once satyrs did not chase them but stood solitary sentinel, horned heads upflung and broad nostrils quivering. Kelpies and selkies hesitated, between horseform and biped shape, their wicked teeth gleaming as they snorted and stamped; among them, night-mares or elfhorses along the shores of the Dreaming Sea—which touches all shores, always—tossed their manes but did not neigh. Greenjacks and jennywillows flitted from branch to branch, liggots swarmed into any hole they could find, brughnies drew back into the shelter of whatever hearth they claimed or cleaned, and in the sky above every portion of sidhe land, whether Unwinter, Summer, or free, the gebriels and harpies took wing, cloud-dogs and bird-women not rending each other’s flesh but simply winging hard among birds and other flitting airborne things. Giants and trollkin stamped uneasily on the moors, and deep in every dwarven cavern the Red or the Black of the earthfolk, and the Outcaste besides, halted in their creation of whatever beautiful thing they had conceived. Hammers raised, tongs slipping, beards quivering, they
listened
, and the great hush in the halls of every mountain was swallowed by the slipslithering of the wyrms as they moved restless and fuming.
    What is it?
    Highborn fullblood paused in their crystalline halls, or halted in their business. Elf-maids older than the mortal idea of history shivered, their true age revealing itself in a single moment of transparent loveliness touched with unthinking wisdom as their hair fell free of braids and ribbons; elf-knights both Seelie and Unwinter paused as their armor woke with the glow of chantment chasing, cups of
lithori
or bloodwine falling from graceful hands. The Half paused, and more than one sank to the ground, hoping whatever it was would pass them by, a deep chill flashing through the mortal part of their blood and bones.
    What is it?
    Barrow-wights clustered at the entrances to their dank cold burrows, the bleached gold of their jewelry flashing with rich sunglow for a bare moment, their noseless faces flush with pale skull-light. The drow and trow bared their curving teeth, hags and skinnocks and gytrash and robber leprekha and every other manner of sidhe halting, heads lifting, listening, listening.
    Do you not know?
    Dark corners lit themselves with foxfire, as if pixies had decided to lead astray every being in the sidhe lands at once. The low cobweb glow twisted, spun itself into ghostly patterns, almost,
almost
coalesced… and collapsed back into the mothering earth or moldering stone, vanishing like dewdrops at noon. Then some few of Danu’s folk sighed with relief, but if there were others about who cared for them, they were chided.
    Hide. Hide now, hide quickly
.
    Shutters slammed, doors closing, dryads fleeing for their trees, naiads flickering back into the depths, the Dreaming Sea turning to glass as its inhabitants withdrew from the dangerous surface, lake and forest gone quiet-placid, drow barring their burrow-gates, dwarves shrinking not only behind their great clandoors but also into their