City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  She frowned at the Sensors. The nearest one shuddered as if he could sense her disapproval. Or perhaps he was receiving a message of some kind. Zala had explained how the Sensors used the Air to communicate with people far away. That was why they had made the climb to this high ledge today. Selivia was hoping the Air Sensors would have news of her family.

  “The Air has been less cooperative since the Soolen invasion began,” Zala had warned her before they made the climb. “The Air Sensors to the south used the power to protect the border. They called on great quantities of Air, leaving less of it to whisper through Rallion City. Our Air Sensors are doing what they can to gather information, but they are subject to the whims of the Air and the wind.”

  The Sensors didn’t even look up when they approached, so focused were they on the whims of the wind. Zala and Selivia found seats on nearby rocks and settled in to wait. Selivia splashed some water on her face from a water skin she’d carried up the Rock and took a long, refreshing drink. Zala had warned her this could take all day, so they had come prepared with refreshments, including a lunch of rubbery pink feather cactus and flatbread with honey for later.

  They had a nice view for their picnic. The late-morning sun stood sharp above the desert, making the colorful décor of the city look more vibrant than ever. The people moved like bright beetles through the streets. From this height, the rainbow pattern of the standing stones was clearly visible, lighter in the center, growing dark toward the outer ring.

  Beyond the city boundaries, Selivia could just make out the dark shadow of the true dragon’s pit in the shimmering expanse. She snuck outside the city boundaries to visit him whenever she could. She loved watching the magnificent creature stretch his wings and circle the narrow confines of his prison. So far, she hadn’t worked up the courage to climb into it with him. As much as she wanted to be a long-prophesied dragon tamer, she didn’t trust Ivran’s interpretation of the old song.

  In the meantime, she was studying when the dragon’s keepers came to feed and tend him so she could plan their escape. It was desperately sad that the creature had awoken from his long slumber, answered the Sensors’ call, and ended up trapped. She would do whatever it took to free him, whether she had been chosen for it or not.

  She wished she had the abilities of her Amintelle ancestors, who had been Firewielders in the old days. At least they would have been safe from the dragon flame. She’d have to rely on her more mundane affinity with animals and whatever information she could gather about the true dragon as she planned their escape. She hoped the Sensors could find out what was going on in the rest of the continent in the meantime so she would know where to go first.

  Suddenly, the nearest Sensor shuddered far more violently than before. Selivia froze, fearing he had somehow read her thoughts. It was the craggy-faced fellow with the broad-brimmed hat who’d picked up her purlendog the day Ivran showed her the dragon.

  His quivering intensified. Then the other Sensors reacted too, bracing themselves as if they had been hit with a huge gust of wind that Selivia couldn’t feel.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered to Zala.

  “I don’t know.” Zala clutched the scarf protecting her head, watching the Sensors strain against the invisible pressure. She focused on her aunt at the opposite side of the circle. Ananova’s face was as white as a newborn furlingbird. She seemed to be in a trance.

  “There has been an attack.” The craggy-faced Sensor spoke, voice distant and eerie. It made Selivia’s blood run cold.

  “Yes, the fighting,” Ananova whispered.

  “The pain!” said another.

  “An attack,” the man repeated. “An attack on Rallion City.”

  The other Sensors in the circle repeated the words, voices murmuring like a breeze through the plains grass.

  “The Soolens took Rallion City months ago,” Selivia whispered to Zala. “Are they receiving an older message?”

  “I don’t think so,” Zala said. “Listen to Fodorov.”

  “They were proud,” the male Air Sensor said. “They thought their victory was complete. Too proud.”

  “The pain,” another Sensor wailed again. “The heat.”

  “So much heat!”

  “They cannot stand against it.”

  “The Air screams. It screams,” Ananova cried. Suddenly, she toppled forward. A few other Sensors shuddered as if they had been slapped. The man with the craggy face—Fodorov—leaned over his knobby knees as if he might be sick.

  “Oh, the heat,” called another Sensor. “It is too much.”

  Selivia started up, wanting to help, but Zala grabbed her arm, still watching her aunt intently. Every Sensor in the circle seemed to be hearing the same terrifying message. It was awful to sit there, unable to hear what the Air was saying, unable to help.

  At last, the strong wind that seemed to be blowing amongst the Sensors quieted. Their desperate quaking subsided, leaving them pale and trembling.

  Slowly, Ananova sat up, wiping a shaking hand across her brow. “The balance is destroyed,” she said.

  Fodorov inclined his head. “Yes, it is worse than we feared.”

  Ananova got to her feet, slowly, as if her bones were creaking, and came over to where Selivia and Zala waited. Her graying hair fell loose from her dusty-rose scarf, and her face was grave.

  “Rallion City is under attack,” she said.

  “By the Soolens?” Selivia asked. “I thought they captured it ages ago.”

  “They thought they’d won,” Ananova said. “No, they are the ones defending the walls this time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Fodorov came over to join them, casting a long, thin shadow over the shorter women.

  “It is Vertigon,” he said.

  Ananova bowed her head. “Yes, but not Vertigon.”

  “The pain is almost too much to bear.”

  Selivia felt dread creeping through her. “What do you mean?”

  “We accepted a message from our friend Meza. She shepherds a Sensors Manor in Rallion City. She saw so much . . .” Ananova shuddered. “She struggled greatly to calm herself enough to speak to us.”

  Selivia slipped a hand into Zala’s, their earlier quarrel forgotten.

  “Meza has seen weapons,” Fodorov said. “Terrible weapons of Fire and power. They are burning everything, destroying anyone who stands in their way. Trure is burning, and Vertigon holds the torch.”

  “Vertigon? You mean the Fireworkers are attacking?” Selivia stared between them, wondering when the world had gone mad. “Are they trying to save Trure from the Soolens?”

  “Alas, no,” Ananova said. “Trure is under attack once more, her and the Soolen soldiers within her. She is a battleground, a terrible, burning battleground.”

  Selivia fought the urge to cry, tears welling up anyway. She didn’t understand how this had happened. Why were her people attacking Trure if not to help their long-term ally? Vertigon was supposed to be peaceful. The Fire wasn’t meant for war.

  Suddenly, a wailing rose from two Sensors who had resumed their meditations. They seemed to be receiving a second message.

  “Oh, it burns. The pain! The land burns.”

  “They call her name,” another Sensor wailed. “Her name. Her name.”

  “Whose name?” Selivia asked.

  Ananova listened for a moment, eyes closed and body swaying.

  “The queen,” she said at last. “The invaders are fighting in the name of the queen. The Lantern Maker couldn’t rally them, but the soldiers fight for Queen Sora. The Fireworkers fight for Queen Sora. They will burn the plains for Queen Sora.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Selivia said. “That’s our grandfather’s land.”

  “Your grandfather is dead,” Fodorov said.

  Ananova winced, as if she had planned to share this information more delicately, but Fodorov barreled on. “King Atrin has fallen and his city with him. Commander Brach has fled into the plains. He fights
still, but can he stand against the Fire?”

  Another Sensor shrieked, long and loudly. “The land burns!”

  Selivia couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t stand the screams, the idea of the magical Fire turned into a weapon. She fled down the side of the Rock, heedless of the danger. Why couldn’t the Fireworkers continue to create beauty and warmth? Vertigon had thrived for a hundred years as the Workers made Fire Lanterns and sent pretty Fireblossoms spinning across the sky. But now they were bringing Fire and destruction to the Lands Below. How could Sora let them do this?

  Selivia ran all the way to the boundaries of the city. A strong wind whipped around her, and she imagined it carried ash and death across the plains. She wished she’d never climbed the mountain to hear the Sensors’ words.

  She didn’t stop running until she reached the pit where the poor true dragon lay, captive and sad. She dropped to her knees beside his prison. He had soared all the way through the Burnt Mountains, wild and free and beautiful. And now he was trapped, like her poor sister. It wasn’t fair at all.

  “Hello there,” she called. “Can you hear me?”

  The true dragon lifted his magnificent head and fixed her with a single cobalt eye.

  “I need your help.”

  The true dragon merely stared.

  “I want to free you from your chains,” Selivia said. “But I need you to carry me back to the mountains. You can go home from there. Will you help me?”

  The true dragon snorted. Suddenly, his entire body moved, the muscles rippling like water. Selivia tumbled backward. But he simply settled down in a new position, still watching her.

  “Will you . . . will you promise not to eat me?”

  The dragon looked up at her. Then he smiled. Okay, maybe he just sort of opened his mouth, but she was sure the true dragon was smiling at her. She swallowed her fear and swung her legs over the rim of the pit.

  “Are you insane?” A harsh grip closed on her shoulder just before she slipped over the edge. It was Ivran.

  “Get away from me!” she said.

  “You’re going to unchain the dragon,” he whispered, horror in his eyes. “You’re mad.”

  “He shouldn’t be tied up here, and I have to help my sister. Let go of me.”

  “He will eat you,” Ivran said. “You’re the same size as the sand goats we feed him. The brute probably can’t tell the difference.”

  A terrific snort came from within the pit, making Ivran topple backward in surprise. Was that how dragons laughed?

  “See?” Selivia said. “He understands.”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t eat you,” Ivran said. “And what makes you think he’ll go where you want even if you manage to get the chains off without turning into barbecued princess?”

  Selivia hesitated. She looked down at the true dragon. It looked back, cocking its head to the side and lashing its tail as if it were a cat. The effect would have been a bit more innocent if the lashing didn’t emphasize the head-crushing knob of scales at the end of the tail.

  “My sister needs me,” Selivia said. “I have to do something.”

  “I don’t think she’d want you getting yourself killed,” Ivran muttered. “Let’s go back. My mother and Zala are looking for you.”

  Selivia ignored him. She studied the true dragon, his striking green and black scales and his wondrous black wings, wondering what it would take to get him to work with her.

  After a few minutes, Ivran spoke, his voice lower than usual. “You really think you can help your sister with that dragon?”

  “I have to try.”

  “Then I won’t stop you,” Ivran said.

  Selivia looked up, surprised. “Why not?”

  “Look, I don’t much like you,” Ivran said. “But it’ll be bad enough for the Far Plains when the Other Lands find out we called on the dragons. We don’t need them thinking we kidnapped you. I’ll help you get away if I can.”

  Selivia studied him, still skeptical. Ivran was not a nice boy, and she didn’t trust him for a second. He had some ulterior motive that she couldn’t see. Still, he did seem to care a lot about his homeland. She believed he wanted to keep trouble away. And she believed he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t like her.

  “How can you help?” she asked.

  “My mother has an old book about the magic wielders who used to work with true dragons. She got it out when they lured him here. At least have a look before you do something stupid.”

  “That . . . would be useful, actually. Thank you.”

  Ivran shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone. The sooner you and the true dragon are gone, the better.”

  Selivia looked back at the true dragon, wondering if she should try making a break for it now anyway. She didn’t think he would eat her, but it would be good to learn more about him. And maybe the Sensors could help her get a message to Sora somehow. If they could talk to Meza, maybe they could communicate with someone in Vertigon. It was a shame Vine Silltine had run off with Dara.

  Selivia froze. Vine was with Dara. And possibly with Siv. She might be able to talk to them with the help of the Sensors. Then they could work on a plan to help Sora together!

  She was sorry to leave the true dragon in captivity for another day, but if they ran away together, she would have no hope of communicating with anyone. She had to stay with the Far Plainsfolk a little longer. For now, they were her only link to the rest of the continent. And it sounded as if everything was falling apart out there.

  “Hang on a little while longer,” she whispered to the true dragon. “I’ll be back for you.”

  24.

  Patrols

  EVERY Waterworker in Pendark wanted the new vent. Dara had never seen a fiercer competition. It only took two days before the first major assault launched against Khrillin and his men. A lesser Watermight practitioner rallied a dozen others—including three who’d previously worked for Khrillin himself—to attack the Steel Pentagon. They overcame the Waterlord’s guards and directed a huge wave of Watermight out of his control. Then they turned on each other. Half the conspirators ended up dead, and Pendark ran with blood and Watermight.

  Every day, more Workers joined the contest, taking drastic measures to capture the free-flowing power for themselves. Floods burst through the streets at random. Islands were destroyed and reformed as Watermight practitioners set up their own petty kingdoms, further altering the landscape with every clash. The flag makers did brisk business as the districts shifted their allegiances again and again.

  Siln directed Wyla’s battle operations, and he often took Dara with him when he patrolled the streets for vulnerable pockets of Watermight or potential challengers. Siln was colder toward Dara than before. He wouldn’t forgive her easily for preventing him from killing Khrillin. He had received a harsh rebuke from Wyla after the ill-fated pen fight.

  Wyla’s anger over Dara’s intervention had been even worse than she feared. Dara was honestly surprised she survived the reprimand. If she hadn’t made so much progress in her Wielding, she was sure Wyla would have killed her for her insolence.

  Instead, Dara’s worst fear had come to pass. Wyla refused to let her go at the end of her three-month term. Dara was Wyla’s servant now unless she wanted to lose her sword arm. She considered it, but she knew Wyla wouldn’t stop at maiming her—and everyone she loved—if she tried to escape.

  She was forbidden to see Siv. Wyla had thrown Rid out of the manor so he couldn’t facilitate their communication. As the Watermight war intensified, she had precious little free time, but she watched for a chance to sneak him a message. Siv had to leave Pendark. There was no use in him waiting for her now. He should take the gold Khrillin had promised and return to Vertigon.

  Despite the souring of their relationship, Wyla wanted Dara out in the streets as much as possible while the conflict raged. Every day, she woke before dawn and went out with Siln. With Wyla’s blessing, he taught her to fight with the Watermight at last. They stro
de through the streets together, spinning ice daggers and drowning spheres at rival Waterworkers or sending great waves rushing along the canals to wash out their hideouts. Dara still had to swallow the Watermight, and it hurt to push it through her skin, but she was making progress.

  She carried Firebulbs in her belt pouch too, but it had been a long time since she had tried Wielding the two powers together. Wyla didn’t push her as quickly on that front now that Dara was in her service for good. They’d have plenty of time for all kinds of experiments—if Dara survived the war.

  Wyla herself had grown more irritable since missing out on a clean defeat of Khrillin, whom she considered her greatest threat. She hated how messy everything was becoming. She rarely stepped out to fight herself, preferring to let Siln and Dara act on her behalf.

  Vine, meanwhile, spent less time in Wyla’s manor than ever. She was using the disorder to investigate Lord Vex’s presence in the King’s Tower. They still weren’t sure why he hadn’t attacked Siv again. The longer it took him to act, the more Dara worried he was preparing a bigger scheme behind the scenes.

  Vine also made regular trips to the Sensors Manor in hopes that they’d eventually break through the communication barrier between Pendark and the rest of the continent. It had been too long since they last had word from Trure and Vertigon. Most people were too distracted by the Watermight conflict to notice, but the silence was becoming eerie.

  “The Air will grant me the gift of contact one day,” Vine always said, patient as ever. “I must continue to ask.”

  By the second week after the opening of the vent, utter chaos reigned in Pendark. The vent changed hands again and again. During each fight, a little more power disappeared into the secret storage facilities the various Waterworkers used, and the rest escaped to run loose in the streets. But the vent just kept producing more power.