“They believe that the ideas of the majority will always dominate over the few,” he answered. “That unity means we’re all the same, and there’s no room for anyone who thinks or feels differently.”
“Sounds like the Homeland, sure enough.” As Ard stepped forward, his foot hit the metal pipe. It rolled across the floor, stopping against Raek’s bare toes.
The Glassmind stooped and picked it up, holding the piece of scrap thoughtfully in one hand. “Feels like I haven’t really taken a breath in years.”
“You’re finally free,” Ard whispered.
Taking the pipe in both hands, Raek bent it in half and cast it aside.
“You couldn’t do that before,” Ard pointed out.
Raek grinned. “I’m full of new tricks.”
“Spherical Time?”
“I’m ready for it.”
“Might I recommend putting on some clothes first,” said Ard.
Chuckling, Raek picked up a fallen tablecloth and tied it around his waist. “I’m going to need some Visitant Grit to access the Sphere. Garifus and his buddies probably used up all the Islehood fragments. That means we’ll have to find a piece on Pekal and feed it to one of the dragons before the Glassminds kill them all.”
“Let’s skip that step.” Ard crossed the room and produced a lock box from one of the cabinets. Pulling the key from his pocket, he opened it, proudly retrieving the keg that was lying inside.
“Is that…?” San stepped toward it, squinting in disbelief.
“Pure, processed Visitant Grit,” Ard declared. “Ready for your detonation and absorption.”
“Where did you get that?” Raek asked.
“We have Hedge Marsool to thank for that,” said Ard. “He left it hidden in a secure location in the Char. I sent Geppel to pick it up for me a few days ago.”
“How did you know where it was?” San asked.
“Because we told him exactly where to hide it.” Ard crossed back to the desk, setting down the keg and picking up one of the books. “It’s all right here. Everything we need to get where we are today. Let’s start at the beginning. Remember the treasury convoy that Forton Spel told us about last year? The one that got robbed outside of Midway?”
“Oh, I remember,” said Raek. “There were one thousand four hundred and three Ashings being transported in the second wagon from the end. What does that have to do with Hedge Marsool?”
“He’s the one who stole them,” said Ard. “Based on the information we learned when Spel recounted the incident for us.”
“And why are we starting there?” Raek asked. “Why do we want to help our enemy earn a thousand Ashings?”
“Think about it,” said Ard. “A man like Hedge Marsool isn’t going to trust the Urgings right away. We need him to gain our trust. Feed him a couple of quick moneymaking jobs. Once he starts following his gut without question, we’ll let him know it’s time to hire us for the dragon heist.”
“You have more jobs than the Midway convoy?” Raek asked.
“Just another small one.”
Raek put a fist on his hip disapprovingly. “What is it, Ard?”
“We need to give him a roundabout way to steal our safe box in Teffelton.”
“What?” Raek roared. “That was Hedge?”
“Sorry,” Ard said. “I had to give him something.”
“You said you didn’t know who got to that box.”
“I didn’t,” admitted Ard, “until I really thought about it this week. It had to be Hedge. The Teffelton box was too secure. The only way someone could have found it was if we had told him about it.”
“But wait…” said San. “You’re going to give Hedge instructions based on what you heard that Hedge had already done?”
“Spherical Time, kid,” said Raek. “It’ll break your brain if you think too hard about it.”
“I think that ought to do it,” said Ard. “Prove the Urgings that Hedge is receiving are more than common feelings.” He held out the book he was holding. “Next, I’ve detailed the Urgings he’ll need to hire us for the dragon job—writing the note in the Char ruins, Quarrah’s note in Lord Dulith’s vase, the events of our first encounter with Hedge at the Be’Igoth.” Ard wiggled the book at him. “Maybe you should just read it.”
Raek accepted the journal, thumbing through the pages as if he were fanning himself. “Got it.”
“No time for funny business, Raek. I spent a lot of time writing these.”
“I said I got it.” He shoved the journal back at Ard.
“You barely even looked at it.”
“I have perfect recall, Ard. I read what you wrote. And besides, I remember everything you ever said, word for word.”
“Flames,” Ard muttered. “That can’t be a good thing.”
Raek nodded his head in agreement. “Surprisingly unpleasant.”
Trying not to think about what offensive things he might have said over the last fifteen years, Ard turned to collect the books for Raek to speed-read.
“You really thought through everything, didn’t you?” Raek said.
“The best I could.”
“I might be the Glassmind.” Raek quickly thumbed through the remaining books. “But you…” He handed them back to Ard. “You’re always the mastermind.” Striding past, he picked up the keg of Visitant Grit and popped open the lid. “Spherical Time… Let’s find out what all this hype is really about.”
Extending one blue finger into the opening, Raek ignited the Grit with a controlled spark. Instead of filling the room, the detonation funneled straight into his pale blue hand, absorbed until only a small orb of haze hung in the air in front of him.
Raek’s eyes peered into the sphere with unmatched intensity. Ard saw nothing unusual, even moving around the room to view it from different angles.
“Fascinating,” Raek muttered.
“What is it?” San asked.
“All of time and space.”
“Could you be less cryptic?” Ard said.
“The past, the future, and countless possible alternatives are flickering past my vision,” he explained. “It’s like the view from a carriage window at full gallop. Only now I can see every passing blade of grass in perfect clarity. And as long as I stay connected to the Visitant cloud, I can use my mind to refine the search.”
“What are you looking for?” San asked.
“Not what,” Raek said. “When.” He pulled back his hand and the detonation cloud grew, stretching into a tall oval. It hovered before him like a doorway into time.
“Well, well… there you are.” Raek stepped forward, passing into the Visitant cloud. His body shimmered at the perimeter, then vanished completely.
San took a startled step toward the lingering cloud, but Ard caught his arm. “What happened?” the lad asked.
“He’s doing it.” Ard squinted into the haze, but there was nothing to see.
Then, all at once, Raekon Dorrel reappeared. He stepped out of the cloud, drawing the detonation back into his hand as he looked at Ard and San with a big grin.
“You’re still here,” said Raek, dusting his big hands together. “I’m guessing that means we didn’t screw anything up?”
“Not yet,” said Ard. “But there’s a lot more information to pass.”
Raek shook his head. “I did it already.”
“All of it?” he cried. “Sparks, you were only gone a couple of seconds!”
“Seconds, hours, days…” Raek mused. “They mean nothing to the Sphere. All I had to do was step into one of the alternate timelines and travel to wherever—whenever—I needed to go.”
“What did you do when you got there?”
“I sifted through those shadow timelines until I found Hedge feeling something, or saying something… Then I drew that emotion or that whisper and applied it to him in the Material Time. He had the words ‘Treasury convoy outside Midway. Second wagon from the end’ running through his head for weeks.”
“But he t
ook the bait?”
“Actually, no.”
“What?” Ard shrieked. “It didn’t work?”
“Hedge didn’t steal the money from that convoy,” explained Raek. “But when he heard about the theft, he cursed aplenty and decided to start trusting his gut.”
“So he still did what we wanted.” Ard grinned. “All of the other Urgings go smoothly?”
Raek nodded. “Like clockwork. Speaking of which… Our jail guard—the one you called Hal—wasn’t being very open to the Urgings, so I had to convince someone else to stash that mantel clock loaded with Heg under my cot.”
“Really?” Ard said. “Who?”
“The one guy who seems to obey every Urging without question.”
“Prime Isle Trable?” Ard cried. That almost felt like dishonest manipulation, abusing a man of such faith.
Raek chuckled. “He couldn’t get the thought out of his head. He whined about it when he came to Be’Igoth. Poor guy didn’t want to do it, but he’s just too blazing faithful!”
“Out of curiosity,” said Ard, “you didn’t tinker with me, right? I mean, beyond the Urgings I’d written about in the journals.”
Raek smiled, clapping his hands together. “San! Let’s get some water boiling.”
“Excuse me?” The lad scratched his head.
“You feel like a cup of tea?” Ard questioned.
Raek stooped, picking up a handful of spilled Grit from one of the piles on the floor. “I feel like making Transformation Grit.”
“Is that the dragon tooth?” San asked. “But it’s so contaminated…”
“Then I’ll pick through it by hand.” Raek opened his fingers, studying the small pile of powder. “It’s time to create a god.”
Do broken things always need repair? I wish I were better at accepting the beauty in the cracks and the holes.
CHAPTER
32
Nemery sprang backward, the tip of the dragon’s tail missing her by mere inches.
“Blazes, Timberhide!” she screamed, slipping in the mud and landing flat on her back. “I’m on your side!”
The yearling dragon paid no attention to her words, craning his neck to snap at one of the Glassminds racing toward him.
They were in a lush draw, a small ravine cutting down the middle with a gurgling brook at its bottom. Grasses and underbrush stood waist high, with a scattering of short trees leading to a thick forest that rambled up a steep slope.
A Glassmind woman reached the dragon, bringing down her axe in a two-handed swing. Under enhanced arms, the blade cut through Timberhide’s scales, biting into his nose.
The dragon yowled, pulling back his head with such force that the axe slipped from the Glassmind’s hands. It dislodged from his nose, hurtling across the clearing.
From the corner of her eye, Nemery saw a spurt of flames. That would be Preen, a hatchling of just six cycles. The small dragon was facing off against five Glassminds, their pale blue skin impervious to her flames.
But there was no time to help Preen right now. Nemery scrambled backward through the mud as a Glassmind sprinted toward her, those long legs covering more ground than should be possible.
She felt a recent wound pop open, her left side suddenly hot and wet from the fresh blood. That had been from yesterday’s failed attempt to save Rassar. No, that had been a hole in her shoulder two days ago. The one in her side had been from trying to save Cloudeye.
Grunting against the pain, Nemery rolled aside as the Glassmind reached her, his short sword squelching into the mud where she had just been. Mohdek came out of nowhere, leaping onto the Glassmind’s back with a battle cry. With his legs wrapped around his enemy’s torso, he raised an arm and Nemery saw a large rock in his hand. He brought it down with a well-placed blow, the Glassmind dropping to his knees in an attempt to shake off his assailant. Mohdek clung tightly, striking again and again until the red skull finally shattered and the Glassmind slumped lifeless onto the soggy ground.
Mohdek rose slowly, a painful grimace on his face. He dropped the rock, and Nemery saw that his hand was dripping with blood. His own blood, the skin probably having shredded when he broke through the glass. And that wasn’t his only wound. The front of his shirt lay open in tatters, his dark blue chest covered in lacerations. There was a massive bruise on the side of his face, and his left eye was swollen shut.
“They got Lucho,” Mohdek reported. “He didn’t stand a chance against so many of them.”
He was talking about another hatchling. They had found Lucho first, struggling against a pair of Glassminds just downhill from their current position. Only moments after reaching him, Timberhide and Preen had started making a racket. In a rare decision to split up, Nemery had come uphill to assess the situation while Mohdek stayed with little Lucho.
“I only counted two Glassminds down there when I left you.” Nemery put a hand to her bleeding side.
“Seven more showed up right after you left,” he replied. “I killed one of them, but it wasn’t enough.”
She pointed at the Glassmind man lying facedown in the mud. “How many is that for you, Moh?”
“Maybe six,” he said.
“Well, that’s five more than Timberhide,” Nemery commented. She pointed at the yearling dragon. He was a spunky one, his name coming from the distinct brownish hue of his scales.
As if he had heard and resented Nemery’s comment, Timberhide pounced forward, his jaws closing around the nearest Glassmind. Shimmering golden blood sprayed in a wide arc as he thrashed his victim back and forth.
“Four more than Timberhide,” Nemery corrected her statement.
Still, the dent they were making in the Glassmind population was insufficient. A return to the site of transformation below Goldred’s Scramble had revealed a number of things. The three dragons that had so quickly responded to her Call were Jahdu, Bors, and Sleekback. Nemery and Mohdek had found their carcasses, along with the remains of about sixty cultists.
After that hit to their numbers, combined with the deserters and Garifus’s own purge of those whose ideals didn’t fit the hive mind, Nemery guessed there were about eighty Glassminds on the island. Probably closer to sixty now, with Mohdek’s six kills, her even ten, and however many the dragons managed to destroy in their self-defense.
According to the tracks below Goldred’s Scramble, the newly transformed Glassminds had divided into groups to cover more area. Nemery and Mohdek had already counted sixteen dead dragons, and they had encountered enough Glassminds in the last three days to realize one important thing.
They were out of Grit.
Probably never even had enough to go around. And without Grit to absorb and manipulate, the Glassminds were little more than overgrown thugs.
Nemery liked to think that their raids of the caravans had given them this advantage. By this point, the Glassminds were even out of Blast cartridges, so most of them had ditched their useless guns for hand-to-hand weapons, tools, or clubs they were shaping out of hardwood tree limbs.
Timberhide bellowed, drawing Nemery’s attention. The dragon was downhill, his attempt to flee cut off by a new group of eight Glassminds. They were probably the ones who had just killed Lucho, but Nemery wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that they were another party altogether. That was the problem in fighting a group that was mentally interconnected. They could share their location and call for help across any distance.
Preen shrieked. The Glassminds had driven the outnumbered hatchling across the small ravine, their spears puncturing her developing scales. She was bleeding profusely, spurts of black gore flowing down the side of the ravine and mingling with the clear stream water.
Nemery recognized the sound she was making—Hatchling in Distress. It was the same Call she had once imitated to counter Tanalin’s attack, summoning a second dragon to the spot where they’d been Harvesting the Slagstone that contained the Royal Regalia. Hearing it now made Nemery realize that she’d never truly performed it corre
ctly. The panicked chip that echoed across the mountainside carried a heart-wrenching fear and desperation that no horn could ever hope to imitate.
Nemery dug her hand into the leather pouch Raek had left them, withdrawing a small paper roll. It wasn’t full of Health Grit anymore; they’d used all of that to heal their myriad wounds. Wounds that should have left them bleeding out on Pekal’s slopes. She regretted having none left for Preen. But to be honest, the hatchling was probably already past the point of saving.
Nemery set aside the paper roll and bit off a length of string she kept on a spool in the pouch. She felt for her quiver. Four arrows left, and only two of them had been altered with those special Slagstone arrowheads.
She pulled one out, the handmade Slagstone tip sparking as it bumped against the shafts of the other arrows. Quickly, she tied a slipknot in the thread, cinching a paper roll of Blast Grit against it.
By the time she was finished, Preen’s cry of distress had been silenced forever. The young dragon lay in a heap at the edge of the ravine, her tail hanging limply into the water.
A familiar anger filled Nemery as she nocked the arrow onto her bowstring. She drew, sighting at one of the Glassminds who still had his back to her. The transformed man was making an unnecessary jab at the dead dragon with the tip of his blood-blackened spear. Nemery exhaled coolly, releasing her anger with the arrow.
It soared true, striking him at the base of the skull. Her Slagstone arrowhead sparked on impact, and her parcel of crude Blast Grit detonated. She saw chunks of red glass fly, glinting in the morning sunlight as her target went down.
One less Glassmind. But the others had already moved on to Timberhide.
Nemery nocked a regular arrow, but it was more out of habit, born of her wooziness. Where would she even shoot the pointless weapon? She knew the limestone arrowhead couldn’t penetrate Glassmind flesh. She took a staggering step in the yearling’s direction, but Mohdek caught her arm.
“What can we do for him?” he whispered. She felt dizzy, painfully aware of the stream of her own blood that pumped down her side with every heartbeat.
Already, two of the Glassminds had managed to climb onto Timberhide’s back, stabbing repeatedly with swords and daggers. Screeching in pain, he tried to take flight, his leathery wings unfolding. But they had already been cut to tatters, now sorely unable to bear his weight.
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 52
