Cezon closed his eyes. So much hatred to dwell on, so little time.
“You know who else I hate?” he grumbled. “Keriya Soulstar. You’re welcome for the Moorfainians, Aldelphia!” he yelled, his hoarse voice echoing throughout the dungeon. “And you’re welcome, you dungbrain shifters, for bringin’ your stupid arses to Noryk for free! You’d think that mighta been worth saying a few words in our defense, but no! Do a good deed outta the kindness of your heart and this is what happens.”
“Shut up in there.” The guard on duty leaned into view and banged on the metal bars of the cell.
Cezon quieted—not because the guard had said so, but because the poison had sapped him of all his energy. If he wanted to continue to hate everyone properly, he’d have to conserve what strength he had left.
A distant grating noise indicated a door being unlocked. Cezon listened to the sound of booted footsteps approaching. Perhaps his screams had alerted one of the other guards, or perhaps it was simply time for someone to replenish the poison supply in their collars.
“You’re relieved of your duty,” said a deep voice outside the cell. Cezon squinted through the gloom and saw the guard salute and leave. That meant the newcomer was an officer—a high-ranking officer, given that the man hadn’t asked questions.
A cloaked figure stepped into view. He removed a key from a large ring on his sword belt and fitted it into the lock on the cell door. The door creaked ominously as the figure entered. He was short and stocky. A wicked scar snaked across the right side of his face and bald head. Though his light brown skin made him look Smarlindian, his eyes screamed of his fire wielder heritage: they were red, the color of angry flames.
“Gohrbryn Tanthflame,” Cezon breathed, gaping at the Commander-General of the Imperial Guard. “Well, if you’re here to kill us, you might as well get on with it.”
“Capital punishment is forbidden under Article Three, Section 12A in the Bylaws of Allentria,” Tanthflame said icily as he stopped before Cezon and Iako, examining them with a practiced disdain.
“Hah! You ain’t gonna keep wasting evasdrin on prisoners condemned for life. That’s what we are, right? So, do your worst.”
“That’s why I’m here to speak to you. The Allentrian judicial system is not in the practice of granting pardons to individuals such as yourselves, but for Officer Blackwater—and possibly for you, Skyriver—I am willing to make an exception.”
“Thankee kindly, Commander-General,” Iako simpered, flashing a gap-toothed grin.
“Why are you interested in him?” Cezon demanded. “He’s worthless!”
Tanthflame sneered, causing his scar to distort his countenance. “I’m working on a sensitive project, and I need men whose loyalty and silence can be bought for gold.”
“I’m in,” Iako said without hesitation. “You know I done good, Commander-General. En’t I done a good job for you this past month?”
“You’ve done a passably mediocre job,” Tanthflame said flatly. “I wouldn’t be here at all, but for the fact that I don’t have time to find new recruits who I can, for lack of a better word, trust.”
“What’s in it for me?” Cezon wanted to know.
“Your freedom, for starters,” the guardsman growled. “And I’ll throw in a handsome sum to ensure you do as you’re told. In return, you will speak of this to no one. If you do, rest assured that I will find out about your insubordination and I will kill you, no matter what Article Three, Section 12A states.”
“When you make us an offer like that, how can we refuse?” said Cezon.
“Lemme out and I’ll do whatever,” Iako groveled.
“Not so fast, Blackwater. I will first need you to enter into a contract with me.”
Cezon and Iako exchanged furtive glances. Cezon did his best to conceal a smirk. Sure. They’d sign Tanthflame’s contracts if it made him happy.
“I will need to collect a vial of blood from each of you.”
The smirk slipped from Cezon’s face. Why did Tanthflame want blood? Perhaps he was a superstitious fool and thought blood contracts were meaningful in ways that written contracts were not. Cezon knew better. Any contract could be broken. In fact, breaking contracts was one of his specialties.
“Fine,” he said. “Blood it is.”
Without preamble, Tanthflame produced a dagger and a glass bottle from somewhere on his person. Cezon didn’t have time to cry out before the blade was drawn across his palm, splitting open his skin. Tanthflame flexed Cezon’s hand and collected the blooming red liquid in the vial. When he’d gathered his fill, he corked it and stowed it away.
“And you, Blackwater?”
“I can’t do it without givin’ my blood?”
“Suck it up, Iako,” Cezon grated, squeezing his hand against the pain of the wound.
Iako sighed and opened his palm in compliance. The commander-general repeated the same motions on him.
“With that, gentlemen, you’ve bought your freedom.” Tanthflame produced another key and unlocked their manacles. Cezon massaged his aching wrists, though he was more interested in getting rid of the poison collar.
“In good time,” said Tanthflame, as if he’d guessed what Cezon was thinking. “First, let me explain the work you’ll be doing. Four days ago, a young girl was brought to the Imperial Palace. The Manager of Homeland Affairs had been misled into believing she was a royal Moorfainian fugitive. Does that sound familiar?”
No. It couldn’t be. Cezon couldn’t believe that fate would lead him back to Keriya Soulstar.
“In actuality, this child possesses a power that has not been seen in a ten-age, a power that makes her incredibly valuable and dangerous. You two will be part of a group that will cover the Galantasa to track her.”
“What sorts of powers she got?” Iako asked apprehensively.
“That is none of your concern,” said Tanthflame. “My officers will give you details as necessary. There will come a time when she uses her powers, and at that time, it will be your job to capture her, along with anyone and anything in her company. You will be paid for your services, but he who delivers her to me will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.”
A reward beyond Cezon’s wildest dreams? He didn’t know about that. He could dream up some pretty wild rewards. Still, this sounded like a good mission. He’d have a chance to get back at Soulstar and he’d get some gold for his troubles. Maybe a lot of gold. Maybe more gold than he could imagine—didn’t Tanthflame have access to the Imperial treasury? It was all Cezon could do not to salivate at the thought of the mountains of derlei that must be piled in that vault.
“And remember, if anything goes wrong—”
“You’ll kill us, we get it.” Cezon didn’t need threatening for this.
“I find, when dealing with criminals, that a bit of extra incentive is usually necessary. To be clear, if you desert your mission, if you tell anyone what you’re doing, if you mention my involvement . . .”
Tanthflame leaned close and his eyes narrowed to ruby slits. “Then your blood will be bound to a Master who is far less forgiving than I. You will burn as His slave for the rest of eternity if you betray Him, for He will take your soul.”
Cezon cared not a whit for empty threats. He wasn’t one to be intimidated, but his blood—blood he’d just given to the loony trog before him—ran cold through his veins.
Cezon wasn’t one for history either, but he knew his basic lore. In all of time, there had only been one who’d had the power to take someone’s soul and bend the rules of the universe to his will . . . but Necrovar was imprisoned in some parallel dimension.
Wasn’t he?
“Understood, Commander-General,” said Cezon, shoving himself to his feet. Tanthflame was shorter than he, and as he stared down at the man, everything seemed less serious. Freedom loomed before him and he knew that no matter what sort of ga
rbage contract he’d gotten into, he’d find a way to wriggle out of it. He always did. “Officer Blackwater and I are at your service.”
“You are,” Tanthflame agreed. He produced one more key and used it to unlock Cezon’s collar.
Cezon yanked the barb from his flesh and threw the accursed band into the far corner of the cell. Tanthflame freed Iako and strode to the door.
“You have one hour to escape while I create a distraction. You will report to the abandoned cathedral at the north end of Broad Street, where one of my officers will give each of you your specific assignments.”
He swept away without another word, his form fading into the shadows.
“We better get goin’,” said Iako, tearing a scrap of fabric from his sleeve and wrapping it around his bleeding hand. “I’m glad yer workin’ on this too, Cezon. How you reckon we oughta get ourselves out of here? I’ll be lettin’ you take the lead, seeing as I en’t got a clue where north is.”
Cezon sighed. “Iako, I don’t know if I say this enough . . . but I really, really hate you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“He who tries not, succeeds not.”
~ Zeherion Leatherwing
“So Dragoneyes, is today the big day?”
Keriya refrained from screaming at Effrax. Every time she tried—and failed—to summon the dragon, she felt more and more like it was an exercise in futility.
Max had done his best to explain the powers of the rheenarae. He’d taught her a host of new magical terms and explained the Tier System, the organization method by which wielders were classified based on their abilities.
“Your eyes indicate great power,” he had said on their first day of searching. “No matter where you fall in the Tier System—whether you’re Tier One, barely able to manage manipulation spells, or Tier Eleven, the most powerful class of wielder a mortal can be—the magic within you will allow you to summon the dragon.”
Keriya enjoyed learning anything magic-related, but she hadn’t the faintest idea how to apply Max’s teachings. There was no light inside her, no well of power to draw from, no ethereal spring pumping energy through her veins—nothing that remotely resembled her friends’ descriptions of their magicsources.
“Intent is crucial to the successful completion of any spell,” Max said as he forded a stagnant waterway dotted with giant lily pads. They were currently combing through Doryn Fen, a sprawling marsh saturated with similar streams and ponds.
“Since wielding is a mental process, your focus must be absolute and unwavering,” Max continued. “You must want to call the dragon to you with all your heart.”
“I do,” said Keriya, but her stomach clenched and her heart twisted, rejecting the words.
By day, Max’s assurances filled her with confidence. At night, doubts consumed her. Shivnath had wanted the dragon to remain safe—that was the reason she’d set this madness in motion.
I can’t win, Keriya reminded herself, as she did whenever she considered abandoning her search. Only a dragon can kill Necrovar.
She needed the dragon in order to save the world. But if her mind was divided, and she wasn’t committed to summoning it, how would she ever succeed?
“Can’t you hear the dragon’s voice in your head and figure out where it is?” Roxanne asked as she hopped over a mud puddle.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Keriya said absently.
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”
“It’s not easy, Roxanne. I’d like to see you do this.”
“It would be my pleasure,” said Roxanne. “I’d be better at it.”
Keriya suffered the insult quietly. She didn’t have the heart to defend herself anymore.
That afternoon, they rested in a hilly area. Since they’d run out of provisions, Max went to hunt, leaving the Aerians with Effrax. He conjured a fire by the side of the road and they all sat to relax. At least, Fletcher and Roxanne relaxed; Keriya hunched on a driftwood log, stewing in her dark thoughts.
“Are you going to try again?” Fletcher asked.
“What’s the point?” Roxanne muttered. “She can’t do it.”
That was the last straw. Keriya stood abruptly. “You want me to call the dragon? Hey, dragon!” she screamed to the empty fen, scaring a flock of blue-feathered birds into flight. “Enough with the games. Time to come out!”
“Shouldn’t you call him in his own language?” said Effrax. “Since everyone’s made such a fuss about you being a dragon speaker, I figured you’d speak to it in a way it would understand.”
That was fine and dandy, but Keriya didn’t know how to speak dragon.
Suddenly she found she couldn’t face her companions any longer. She turned and fled into the fen, diving into a patch of tall reeds. She kicked at a stunted bush and tripped, falling flat on her face. With a growl of fury, she let out a string of swear words that would have made Cezon Skyriver proud.
She shoved herself upright and headed toward a rocky, sawtoothed ridge. When she reached the crest, she stared at the dreary storm clouds massing in the north.
“What now, Shivnath?” she said, as if hoping the dragon god would miraculously appear to fix her problems. “I’m sure you’re not listening. I’m sure you’re busy with more important things. I just wish you would answer me. I could use some help.”
“Keriya?”
Keriya jumped at the unexpected voice. Max was approaching from the far side of the ridge.
“I thought I heard you. What happened?” he asked, eyeing her mud-covered dress.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I tripped.”
“Ah. Let’s get to the campsite before the storm hits. We can clean you up—”
“I don’t mind the rain,” she blurted. “I think I need to be away from the others for a bit.”
Max chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m not a fan of Nameless, either.”
Part of Keriya—a silly part, a part that made no sense to her—wanted to laugh alongside Max and agree with everything he said. Another part winced at the way he said Nameless. It made her feel sorry for Effrax.
“Why do you call him that?”
“Because he has no formal claim to any title or land in the Fironem,” said Max. “He’s King Embersnag’s bastard son, so he’s granted more clemency than he deserves, but Halixa Coalwill wasn’t married to the king when Effrax was born—nor was she nobility.”
Keriya had generally found the Allentrians to be more enlightened than the Aerians, but it seemed everybody agreed on this issue: if you didn’t have a proper family, you were unworthy of even a name.
“Well, it’s not just him,” she said, unwilling to dwell on the subject. “It’s everything. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry.” Max put a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt, basking in the undeserved attention. “You’re persistent, smart, and brave—things will work out soon enough.”
Keriya’s cheeks were burning so badly, it was a wonder her head hadn’t ignited in flames. She didn’t think anything he’d said was true, but if Max was suffering from the delusion that she was smart and brave, she wasn’t going to argue.
“Would you like to take a walk?” he asked.
“The storm’s about to hit.”
“I thought you liked the rain,” he said, grinning.
Keriya was caught off-guard. Was he flirting with her?
Who would flirt with you? whispered the awful voice in her head. No one.
The voice was right, of course. To spite it, Keriya nodded. “Sure! Let’s go.”
They set off, watching the storm roll in. It often drizzled in the afternoons here, but the showers were mild. This one seemed to be working its way up to a monsoon. In the distance, fractured lightning skittered across the sky.
“We’ve been so busy searching that we haven’t had time to t
alk. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” said Max.
“I’m not that interesting,” Keriya said as the first of the raindrops fell. As a wry afterthought, she added, “Apart from the whole dragon speaker thing.”
“That’s a pretty big thing. And your—” He stopped and stared at her. “Your eyes.”
“Yes, my eyes,” she said heavily.
“No, it’s . . . they’re glowing.”
“What?”
Max rummaged in his pack and produced a hand mirror. He held it out to her, revealing that her irises were emitting an eerie light. They shone so brightly that they illuminated her pupils, turning them red and reflective. She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her face. Garish purple light painted the backs of her closed lids.
“What’s happening to me?” she moaned.
“It’s alright,” said Max. “It’s a side effect of your powers. Your eyes will glow when necromagic is wielded nearby.”
“What’s necromagic?”
“Exactly what it sounds like: magicthreads that have been poisoned by Necrovar’s touch.”
“That is definitely not alright,” she said, aghast. She wheeled around, meaning to go warn the others, but Max grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him.
“Don’t move,” he breathed, leaning close enough for his lips to brush her ear.
She knew she should be asking questions—what did he think he was doing? Why wasn’t he letting her tell Fletcher and Roxanne about the necromagic?—but instead she whispered, “Okay.”
They were in danger. She knew they were in danger. So why was she standing there like a moon-eyed fool? It was just that being close to Max felt strangely good. She felt calm and safe.
Without warning, Max shoved her sideways. She tumbled and fell into a shallow puddle. Coughing, spitting out a mouthful of mud, Keriya rolled over and glared at him.
Her angry words died on her lips, leaving her limp and winded. Max had drawn his shortsword and was facing a hideous animal. It had a vaguely feline body, with a broad chest and smaller hindquarters that ended in a barbed tail. Bullish horns stuck out behind its tufted ears and sloping brow, and its underbite proudly displayed gleaming, saliva-coated fangs. Every inch of it was a uniform shade of black, even the drool that swayed from its jaws in gooey strands.
Dragon Speaker Page 14
