by JA Andrews
Without the orange moss, the tunnel rocks were bleached to a stale grey. The tunnel was thin to the point where Will’s shoulders brushed the sides occasionally, and the only noise he heard was a curse from Hal as he squeezed through a particularly tight section. The wet, green smell of moss grew stronger as the tunnel grew brighter, and a shushing noise teased at his ears.
Ahead of him, Alaric turned sharply to the right, and Will blinked into brightness. Light and the sound of rushing water poured into the tunnel from a horizontal crack in the wall. The others leaned against the wall, squinting through it. Will stepped up between Alaric and Sora, and looked out into a long, thin cavern. Straight ahead, the far side opened in a gaping maw and sunlight streamed in, landing in a blinding patch on the stone floor. The cave looked out high over the rippled surface of the Sweep, stretching away to the hazy horizon. Straight below them, down a cliff face, sat a lake. It was flat and silty brown, reflecting smudged images of the drab cavern walls. A river flowed out from it, edged with pale green moss, sliding toward the mouth of the cave until it disappeared over the edge. Just before the mouth of the cave, a thin, arching bridge crossed the river. The constant wind of the Sweep blew the edges of trees and grass outside the cave, and the smell of the grasslands mingled with the moss.
An unintelligible tangle of voices echoed loudly through the cavern against the backdrop of the waterfall, and Will leaned forward until he could see through the crack. A little to the left, a smaller cave branched off, angling sharply away from the sunlit cavern. In the gloom, dozens of torches lit rows of long tables and benches. A couple dozen Roven congregated in small knots among them, grey-shirted slaves standing along the walls or carrying pitchers. Along the far wall the tables were laden with food. At the near end, just before the tables, a wide, flat stone like a platform filled the center of the floor.
“Killien’s not here,” Hal said in a voice so low it was almost hard to hear over the noise of the cave. “But I do see all the other Torches.”
“And Lukas,” Sora said.
Lukas limped among the groups of Roven, filling cups and keeping his eyes pointed down in a more servile stance than Will had ever seen.
“There’s Sini and Rett.” Will nodded toward a back table where the two were busy hunched over some food.
“I don’t see Ilsa,” Sora said.
“Each clan has its own permanent quarters," Hal said. “The Morrow’s is, of course, the smallest. I’m sure it’s been ignored over the years we haven’t been here. Ilsa is probably there. And if Killien isn’t here with the other Torches, he probably is too.”
“It’d be easier to talk to Ilsa if Killien were doing something else,” Will pointed out.
“Lukas doesn’t stay away from Killien for long if he can help it.” Hal nodded toward Lukas who was continuing to pour drinks. “I would guess Killien will show up soon. I don’t think he'll bring Ilsa to the Torches’ meeting, but it might be worth staying to find out.”
Will pushed back a surge of irritation at the delay, but it wouldn’t do them any good to sneak into the Morrow’s quarters if Ilsa was on her way to this gathering.
An older Roven man in red dyed leathers climbed up on the boulder. His hair hung down his back in long, grey braids, and his equally long beard was decorated with glints of silver and red. A severity was carved into the creases of his face and his shoulders were set resolutely. He knocked a thick wooden staff against the rock and the cavern quieted.
“Torch Vatche of the Temur,” Hal said. “One of the few Torches who allies with Killien. This mountain is on his land. The powerful clans demand gifts at the opening of the enclave, beginning with the least powerful, which would be the Morrow. But with Killien not here, Vatche will have to go first.”
“We are pleased to offer these gifts to our brethren.” Vatche’s Roven accent was harsh as he motioned for two slaves along the wall holding small chests. The first walked over to a tall, angular man wearing wine-dark leathers. His fingers glittered with rings and gems, runes were stitched or stamped into every surface of his clothes, and a large yellowish burning stone hung around his neck, swirling slowly with a viscous, murky light.
“Torch Noy, Sunn Clan,” Will whispered to Alaric. “They have the most stonesteeps. And control the dragon.”
“The Temur would like to thank the Sunn for their generosity in letting us hire their stonesteeps,” Vatche said, his voice emotionless as the servant opened the chest, showing a pile of colored gems, the top of which shimmered with a greenish light.
“Doesn’t sound very generous,” Alaric whispered.
Torch Noy barely glanced at the chest before waving it away and turning back to his food.
“If the smaller clans don’t offer bribes to the Sunn and the Boan,” Sora said, leaning closer so Alaric and Will could hear, “the protective spells the Sunn stonesteeps place on the herds will be prone to inexplicable failures, and the Boan soldiers will accidentally raid their outlying settlements.
“The trick is to make both clans think they received the better bribe. One year the Boan chief thought that the Sunn clan’s gift was more valuable than their own. They rode into Vatche’s house, killed his servants and his two nephews.”
Will scanned the main cavern, but there was still no sign of Killien. Or Ilsa. How long were they going to have to wait?
Vatche stood tall on the boulder and motioned to the other slave. The man shuffled forward and placed a slightly larger chest on the table before the enormously fat Torch of the Boan Clan. A chill dragged across Will’s neck at the sight of the man. The stories of the Boan’s Torch were uniformly cruel.
“Albech,” Will whispered to Alaric. “Torch of the Boan. He has more warriors than the rest of the clans put together.”
The slave opened up the chest and pulled out a corked glass bottle sloshing with grey liquid. Albech’s eyebrow rose slightly and his hand flinched back away from the chest. With a quick nod, he flicked his hand at the servant to take it away.
“Poison.” Sora let out a long breath. “The Temur dip their arrows in it. I’ve never seen them share it.” Her eyes flicked from the Boan Torch to the Sunn. Neither man looked at the other. “Two decent gifts. At least neither wants what the other has.”
With a slight bow toward the room, Vatche stepped down.
“This is taking too long,” Will whispered to Hal. “Let’s head to the Morrow’s quarters and if Killien’s there, we’ll deal with it.”
Hal nodded, then paused. Another Torch was approaching the boulder.
“Ohan of the Panos Clan,” Hal said, his voice hard.
This Torch stalked forward like a wiry cat, his hands hung with an exaggerated ease, too still at his sides. His dark red beard was trimmed to a short point beneath his pinched face.
“The clan that betrayed Killien to the Sunn,” Hal continued, “burned our grass, and tried to murder Killien in his home just days ago.”
Before Ohan could reach the boulder a distant cry rang out. A shadow flickered across the sunlight on the edge of the cave and the grass along the mouth flattened to the side.
Torch Noy’s head snapped toward the opening, his hand grabbing at the yellow stone at his chest. Ohan and the rest of the room turned.
A huge shape dropped into view and light scattered off garnet scales, darting through the cavern with skittering glints of blood red. The dragon flared massive wings, the membrane glowing crimson in the sunlight, dark veins and tendons stretching across them like twisted roots.
With scrambling claws, the creature sank down onto the cave floor next to the river and slithered toward the cave with the Torches, his wings curled back above him. The dragon slid forward until it reached the smaller cave and turned its emotionless face toward the Torches who had shoved back from their tables and scrambled away. Only Torch Noy stepped forward, the yellow burning stone held out before him, the other hand held up, commanding the creature to stop.
Red light rippled down the side of th
e dragon as he reached the boulder where Vatche had stood and stretched his head into the room. The Roven pressed against the back wall, utterly silent. Noy, his voice raising higher and higher, continued to command the dragon to leave.
With a long, ominous breath, the dragon relaxed its wings. A figure got to his feet on the wide scales between the roots of his wings, and slid down the dragon’s shoulder, landing on the boulder.
“I’m glad we’re still giving gifts.” Killien rested a hand on the dragon’s neck. “Because the Morrow have some to hand out.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Killien stood perfectly calm, his hand resting on the wide neck of the dragon. Even on the shadowed side, with every breath the creature took, glints of red skittered along his scales. The dragon pulled back his wings, folding them along his side. Thin, jagged spikes ran from the top of his head, down his spine to the tip of his tale.
The only sound in the cavern was the muffled rush of the waterfall. The Roven were pinned against the wall of the cavern. Lukas, Sini, and Rett stood along the side wall, watching Killien closely. Lukas's face was set in a pleased expression. Torch Noy stood rigid at the first table, his hand gripping his yellow stone.
“That’s Killien?” Alaric demanded in a barely audible whisper. “Your description of him didn’t do him justice.”
“He’s less impressive when he’s not riding a dragon.”
Douglon shook his head. “Why is it always dragons?”
“Does anybody happen to have a kobold?” Will asked.
“Oh, Tomkin and the Dragon! I love that story!” Evangeline whispered.
“I know that one!” Sora whispered back.
“Can we focus?” Alaric interrupted.
Evangeline leaned forward. “I definitely know that dragon.”
“We all know that dragon,” Douglon said from behind them. “It’s tried to kill us. Some of us twice.”
“Anguine,” Evangeline said slowly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she considered the enormous creature.
“No, Evangeline,” Alaric said. “Ayda knew that dragon. Even if you think you know it, it doesn’t know you.”
Hal hushed them all as Killien stepped forward to speak. “The first gift is for my friend Anguine.” He ran his hand down the dragon’s neck. He stepped down off the boulder and walked toward Noy, pulling a short sword out of the sheath slung across his back.
The seax. Will jabbed Alaric with his elbow. “He claims that sword was given to his father by Flibbet the Peddler.”
Alaric’s eyes widened and he peered at the sword.
“It turns out that even though Anguine is a dragon, he and I have something in common,” Killien said. The seax glinted a dull silver as he set the tip against Noy’s chest. “Neither of us is interested in being ruled.”
Noy’s face was white, but his eyes blazed with fury. “You raise your sword at the enclave?” Noy hissed through clenched teeth. “You declare war on every clan here.”
An unhinged laugh burst out of Killien, and Noy flinched. “A sword?” He flung his arm back at Anguine. “I brought a dragon to the enclave. Yes. It’s a declaration of war.” Killien reached forward and ripped the yellow stone out of Noy’s hand, dragging Noy a step closer by his neck. “Your days of crushing the other clans into submission are over. You no longer have your dragon.” Killien drew his sword back and slashed forward, slicing through the chain.
He turned his back on Noy and walked back toward the dragon. Noy’s hand dove into a pocket and pulled out a handful of gems. Anguine’s head stretched forward and a deep, low growl rumbled in his chest. Noy’s gaze flickered to the dragon and he froze.
Killien tossed the stone toward Anguine. The dragon’s jaws snapped shut on it, and the yellow stone sat pinned between jagged teeth for a heartbeat before Anguine bit down and the stone shattered.
A loud crack echoed through the cave and a shower of yellow sparks exploded from Anguine’s mouth. The dragon spread his jaws wide and shards of yellow glittered from between his teeth. His head snaked closer to Noy. The scales on Anguine’s back rose, bits of light scattering across them as he drew in a breath. Slowly he let it out and red flames flickered in his mouth with a sound like a distant wind. The fire licked along the dragon’s teeth, reaching around his nostrils with clinging fingers of flame, setting the scales of his face glittering a bloody red.
When the flames stopped, the dragon’s teeth shone jagged and clean.
Noy took a wooden step backwards while Anguine fixed him with a dead, reptilian gaze.
“How is Killien controlling that dragon?” Alaric whispered. “I thought you said he couldn’t do magic.”
“He can’t.”
“Could Lukas be doing it?” Sora asked.
The slave stood off to the side, gazing around the room with a satisfied smile.
“He doesn’t look like he’s doing much of anything,” Will said.
“Look on the dragon’s back,” Sora said.
Nestled into the glittering red scales at the base of his neck, something flashed light blue. Like a bit of sky caught in his scales.
“That’s the same stone he used to control the frost goblins,” Sora whispered.
“A compulsion stone,” Will whispered. “It can transfer thoughts into a creature.”
“He’s trying to implant thoughts into a dragon?” Hal asked. “He’s completely lost his mind.”
Sora studied the blue glimmer on Anguine’s back. “That’s what it looks like to me.”
“That wouldn’t work if Killien is next to it,” Alaric pointed out. “He’d nullify the magic.”
Will sank back away from the crack remembering Lukas's notes about compulsion stones. He spun his ring. “It could work. Killien keeps energy from being transferred near him. But Lukas discovered that if you put emotions instead of thoughts into a compulsion stone, that they’ll resonate. Once he created a stone, the emotions would resonate into anyone the stone touched.”
Alaric looked unconvinced.
“Trust me,” Will said. “Emotions resonate. And he could use them to control a dragon.”
“The Sunn still have stonesteeps.” Noy’s voice rang out shrilly. “Hundreds of them. Many of which are right outside this cave. You will never leave this enclave alive.”
Killien let out a short laugh. “I also bring a gift to all the slaves in this room.” There was a long moment of silence. “To you who have served these Torches, I offer you your freedom. Come to me and the Morrow will see you safely across the Scale Mountains, where you can return to the homes you were taken from.”
A ripple of movement spread among the Roven and the slaves. Lukas's head snapped towards Killien, his eyes narrow.
“All you have to do is step forward. You have my word.” Killien watched the huddled slaves at the back of the room patiently.
“Killien’s freeing the slaves?” Will whispered to Hal.
The big man shook his head slowly, his face disapproving. “He’s freeing his enemies’ slaves, stripping the other Torches of any advantage they might have. You can tell from Lukas’s expression that it’s not a universal freeing.”
Hal was right, Lukas’s face was furious.
One elderly man stepped forward. The enormously fat Torch Albech grabbed at his arm, but the slave wrenched it away and walked toward Killien, his eyes flickering to the dragon.
“What land do you come from?” Killien asked.
“Baylon,” the man answered.
Killien nodded. “We will see you returned.” He faced the others again, waiting.
Slowly, other slaves stepped away from the crowd, walking over to join the old man until the only ones against the far wall were Roven.
“My final gift,” Killien said, his voice as cold and sharp as the wall under Will’s fingers, “is for Ohan of the Panos Clan.”
Sora swore quietly next to him.
“A man I trusted,” Killien continued, “a man who claimed he also wanted out from
under the thumb of the Sunn and the Boan. A man who joined into an agreement with Torch Vatche and myself.”
The Roven near to Ohan backed away. Vatche stepped up behind him and gave him a shove. Ohan stumbled forward. Lukas stalked over to the man and took a hold of his arm, while Vatche took the other.
Killien strode toward the man. Ohan tried to back away, but Lukas and Vatche held him in place.
“You convinced Vatche and I that you wanted an alliance. The Panos would join the Morrow and the Temur in our endeavors to break out from under the stranglehold of the larger clans.”
Vatche shoved Ohan a little closer.
Killien stepped within reach of the man. “You burned my land. You sent men into my home under a sign of peace to kill me. You partnered with the Sunn, for what? To gain a little favor? To fawn at the feet of men more powerful than you?”
Ohan shrank back against Vatche, who didn’t move.
“I have a question for you, Ohan.” Killien stepped even closer. “And if you answer me truthfully, I will be merciful.”
Ohan’s entire body trembled. Killien pressed the edge of his sword against the man’s neck.
“The night my father died, the night he traveled to broker peace between you and the Temur, was it a stray arrow that took his life? Or something more…cowardly?”
Ohan’s jaw clenched and he stared into Killien’s face, his eyes half-furious, half-terrified.
“A stray arrow.” The words were rough and broken.
Killien stood very still, the blade still pressed against the man’s throat.
“No, it was not.” An older slave stepped forward from the knot of grey shirts who had come to Killien’s side. “The arrow that killed Tevien, Torch of the Morrow, came from Ohan’s own bow.”
Ohan shot a blazing look at the slave and opened his mouth in rage.
