“I see you finally figured out Flux,” she said.
Moving almost parallel to the ground, he dared a grin back at her. The motion changed his center of balance, and he tottered until he corrected the exact place of binding and could focus on Leenda. Her hair whipped out behind her. Smudges of dirt covered her face, and her undershorts and blouse hung in tatters. Red finger marks striped her neck. But she smiled at him, a satisfied glint in her eyes.
“You always were a quick learner,” she said.
About a hundred yards back, Cuchorack clambered over the rise where Teirn lay, flapping its wings as it ran, but failing to lift off of the ground. It seemed handicapped, as if its wings were broken. Athanaric sat in the saddle, his head low to the draegon's neck. It seemed that all of the others that had come to parley were dead or gone. Athanaric bent low from his saddle to look at something on the ground, and raised his head to the sky. His mouth gaped. A moment later, the sound of his scream echoed off of the butte cliffs, and through Wrend's heart.
The butte loomed, and now that they ran near its base, it approached quickly. They landed in a patch of dirt bordered on one side by black boulders, took a handful of steps to change direction, and lifted off again, moving along the cliff base. The air felt cooler in the plateau’s shadow. The wind stronger. The black boulders piled atop each other in layers at the cliff base, and the ground sloped upward at a sharp angle.
“Should we go up top?” Wrend said. “It seems like Cuchorack can't fly.”
“Athanaric can use Flux to follow,” Leenda said.
“At least he'll have to leave Cuchorack behind.”
They landed on a black boulder. She grunted and took a several quick stutter steps to prevent herself from falling—nearly pulling Wrend down in the process—and jumped again.
“I guess it can't hurt to try,” she said. “You lead.”
He guided their path up to another boulder. They landed on its edge. By the time they crossed it in four steps, they had halted and turned to face the cliff. Dizziness assailed Wrend as he looked up. Beyond three or four layers of boulders, the red dirt was nearly perpendicular. If he had time, he could probably climb it by crawling up on his belly, but as it was he would have to jump from one small outcropping to the next. It would take a precise application of Flux.
Behind and to their left, Cuchorack roared.
“You can't escape,” Athanaric shouted, fifty yards back.
“Go,” Leenda said.
She let go of his hand and jumped.
He followed, leaping almost straight into the air. He applied Flux in an up and ever-so-slightly-forward push, so that he landed twenty feet above, on the next boulder up. By the time he bent to jump again, Leenda had already lifted to the next level.
“Be careful,” she said. “There's a wind, there.”
He jumped again, lifting over the boulder. The strength of the wind surprised him. It pushed him back, away from the stone. He applied an extra surge of Flux to land on the rock, then jumped again, finding that the higher he went, the stronger the wind became. It blew in unpredictable directions, so he had to constantly adjust his trajectory.
By the time he landed on the top-most level of boulders, with the cliff face sloping up ahead of him, a hundred feet above the base, Cuchorack and Athanaric had begun to scramble up the boulders below and to the left. The draegon's size made it easy for it to pull itself over the rocks without jumping. Above Wrend, a few small bushes of sage—some of it poison—and tenacious pinion trees grew out of the cliff face, but generally the slope consisted of small rocks and loose dirt.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said.
“No,” she said. “Keep going. See, there?” she pointed up and to the right, at a ledge about forty feet up. “Aim there.”
She bent her legs, and with a swing of her arms ejected herself from the ground. She soared upward in a smooth curve to the outcropping, but right before she landed, her path veered backward as if she'd hit and bounced off of a wall. She cried out in surprise. It seemed she might miss, but then she surged forward, and her feet landed on the ledge. It looked too small for him to join her there.
She looked down at him, and motioned him upward.
“Come on.”
“Go on,” he shouted.
Cuchorack roared. The sound—so close now—pummeled his ears, and spooked him to jump. He hoped that by the time he reached the ledge, she would move on to the next one.
She did. He lifted into the air as she vacated the ledge, and he steered himself forward, adjusting the location of his Flux application. The wind whipped around him, jogging him one way and the other, surging away from the cliff as he approached the ledge. He applied Flux hard and fast.
Maybe too hard and fast.
His body and face slammed into the cliff. If he hadn't been applying so much Flux, he would have bounced back and off. Only another second of Flux application held himself against the cliff as he gained his feet. The dirt dug into his face and a rock poked his forehead. Below, Cuchorack gained the top-most level of boulders. Standing on its hind legs with its neck extended, it could probably almost reach the ledge where Wrend stood.
Leenda perched another thirty feet up, on another outcropping, and jumped again. She lifted off. Leaping, he steered himself upward and forward. This time the wind didn't fight him so much, and except for the difficulty of landing on a six-inch ledge, he made it without problem.
Below him, Cuchorack screeched.
“Wrend,” the Master said. “Come and face your punishment.”
Wrend kicked dirt down as he jumped for the next ledge. He glanced down as he rose. Cuchorack had begun to climb the slope, keeping its body tight against the ground. Its claws extended into the dirt as it stretched each leg and slammed the paws down. Athanaric lay low on its neck, his face turned up at Wrend. He was only fifty feet below, now.
Wrend landed on the next level up, which really only provided a few inches for his toes to find purchase, and fell against the slope—which wasn't much different than leaning against a wall. His blood thumped in his ears and he breathed hard. He couldn't bend his knees to jump again, or he would push himself off the cliff, so he turned sideways as best he could, so that he could crouch for his next leap.
“Keep coming,” Leenda shouted.
She stood on a jutting rock about a hundred feet up. Below, Cuchorack began to slide down the slope. Rocks and dirt tumbled around it. Athanaric's curses swirled in the wind.
Maybe they could do this. Maybe Cuchorack couldn't make it up.
Wrend jumped. He applied Flux in a surge, pushing himself upward faster. As he rose, he eased off on the Flux, so that he would almost coast to the correct height and could push himself onto the now-vacated ledge—except the wind that shoved him away was stronger than he expected, and his toes slipped away from the rock and his shins banged the front of the ledge.
He threw his arms out and caught himself.
The ground shook. Dirt rained around him from above. He looked down just in time to see Cuchorack push off and up from the cliff face in a mighty leap. Athanaric was having the draegon jump rather than climb, just like Wrend and Leenda jumped. Cuchorack beat its wings and strained its neck as it rose toward Wrend, and roared as it again hit the ground. More loose dirt fell away.
Another two leaps like that, and Cuchorack would have Wrend in its jaws.
Chapter 83: Unwilling to leave
Even when you know what you should do, it’s not always easy to do it. And that’s because chances are the right thing will involve some level of unpleasantness.
-Leenda
Leenda watched Wrend struggle to lift himself onto the ledge. She was two jumps ahead of him now. Only one below the top of the plateau. She probably could’ve climbed the entire plateau in just two or three jumps, but Wrend didn't have as much experience as her, and she didn't want to leave him behind.
Although she’d done exactly that. Just as she'd left Krack behind
all those years before, now she'd left Wrend behind to make his own way up. But she could do nothing. She couldn't go back down because there simply wasn't enough room on any one ledge for them both to stand. She could apply Flux to help him, but it might throw his balance off completely and ruin his trajectory.
She could do nothing.
The draegon pushed off from the cliff again just as Wrend pulled himself onto the rock outcropping and found his feet.
She pointed down at the place she'd just jumped from.
“Jump there!”
He didn't take the time to even acknowledge her, but leapt. Cuchorack, wings flapping and legs clawing at the cliff face, landed with its foreclaws clutching onto a few larger rocks. It couldn't grip with its paws like a human could with fingers, but bent the paws near the joint, like a human's wrist. It roared, and Athanaric commanded it to jump, again. It did.
Wrend landed on the outcropping just thirty feet below her.
“Come on,” she said, motioning for him. There was enough room for them both here. The ledge was about a foot deep and three-feet wide—bigger than the others they'd used to climb.
“Go on!” he shouted.
The draegon hit the slope where Wrend had just jumped from. Its hind legs clawed at the ground, slipping over and over in a quest for purchase. Rocks and dirt rained down. It wrapped both forelegs around the rock and tucked its wings against its back. Athanaric looked up with concentration and murder in his eyes. Nearly three hundred feet below, the black boulders looked like little rocks.
“There's enough room,” she shouted to Wrend.
He shook his head. He didn't believe her. He couldn't see the space next to her.
The draegon lifted off, half scrambling, half flying up the slope as it spread its wings wide and flapped for the ledge Wrend stood on. Its legs clawed at the ground, pulling it upward. The shredded wing seemed to do nothing. It should have been impossible for it to lift so rapidly—unless Athanaric used Flux. She couldn't imagine the amount of Ichor it would take to even nudge the draegon, let alone steady and lift it.
Wrend looked down, and by the time he glanced back up at her, he'd already started to jump.
The draegon flew high enough that if it had used its horns, it probably would have skewered Wrend, but it didn't. Instead, it snapped at Wrend's legs. It missed only by inches as it slammed into the cliff and scrambled to dig its hind claws in. The muscles in its body pulled tight. From a wound in its side, salt drizzled out. Its forepaws wrapped around the lip Wrend had jumped from. Athanaric leaned low against the draegon, but also half stood, ready to leap off.
Wrend flew upward toward her, and she scooted as far to one side as she could, to give him as much room as possible.
But somehow he missed. He misjudged the distance or the strength of the wind. Or the edge of the lip was just a little looser than anticipated. Whatever the case, as had happened on the level below, the toes of his black boots slipped off the edge of the cliff, and he began to fall.
He reached out.
She threw her arms out.
Her hands wrapped around his forearms. With all of the Thew she could muster, she steeled herself against his weight. Her arms jerked taut and her back bent, but her fingers held true. His hands grasped her arms. He looked up at her with bulging eyes.
Cuchorack pushed off of his perch, and began to rise toward them, jaws wide in a roar, claws extended as it half-scrambled, half-flew up the cliff face. It tilted its head from side to side, scraping the dirt with its horns.
She pulled Wrend up, grunting. He swung one leg onto the ledge, released one of her arms, and grabbed the lip.
It didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to stand and jump in the time it would take Cuchorack and Athanaric to reach them. They were both going to die.
Or, she could let him go and jump. She could get to safety.
The thought hung there for an instant, dominating her mind and body. Everything disappeared except for that possibility.
She could let him go. She could get herself to safety.
Her heart revolted at the thought. She rejected it with prejudice. She pulled harder on Wrend, standing on her tip-toes to try and give him a little more lift. She couldn’t leave him. She’d done enough leaving.
From above them came a rush of wind and a deafening roar.
She knew that roar. She'd thought she would never hear it again.
A shadow fell over her as she looked up in time to see Krack come over the lip of the cliff, wings back, neck extended, and claws forward.
Chapter 84: It’s what a draegon does
Sometimes I have to wonder about my decision-making skills.
-Krack
As Krack peeked over the lip of the plateau, trying to avoid notice as his mother and father fled up the slope, with Athanaric and the husk of his father pursuing them, he realized that he had more to fear than just Athanaric.
That draegon was huge. Monstrous. With horns that curved down well past its mouth. Recently, he’d flown over a lake and looked down, admiring his own horns and how they’d grown. But those had been nothing compared to these ones. They'd been pretty little toys that a scaella baby could play with.
These—these were freakishly huge.
He pulled back from the edge and crouched, frozen on the brink. He had to do this. He'd returned to help his mother, as he'd foolishly promised he would. A draegon kept his promises. He sacrificed for others and took risks for them.
Stupid risks. Why had he promised her he would help her recover his father? What a ridiculous thing to do. He didn't even know the man. The weak, little human. Not even a draegon.
He could turn away. He could leave. No one would ever know he'd even come and then turned away.
No one but him.
He crouched there, the warm desert sun beating down on his back, the wind rippling through his fur. His legs trembled. He’d tensed them for a jump. His wings had spread some, ready to snap all the way open. His tail had arced upward.
Apparently, without his brain even realizing it, his body had made the decision to play the part of a real draegon.
Bah. Forget it. He might as well get it over with.
Tossing the fear and worry aside, caring not for his own goat-gutted safety—because if he did care, he wouldn't do this—he roared and dove over the edge of the butte.
Chapter 85: A new friend
No matter how many contingencies you plan for, someone always throws in something you didn’t expect.
-Naresh
Naresh stood at the front of the Hasuken army, facing the leaders. Only the general—with the eagle-face—and two advisors had gone to the parley. All the others who’d accompanied him had been the best in the Hasuken army at using Ichor.
Not that it had done them much good. Naresh had tried to warn them.
“Your leader is slain,” Naresh said.
The cluster of armored men wearing green livery had seen how the negations had gone, and stared in solemnity at Naresh. Behind them, the ranks of the army spread out, their faces distinct to Naresh with his Ichor-enhanced vision. Most of them, from what he could tell, bore a hard resolve, a strong desire to use their newfound powers and advance on the army of paladins.
“I suggest,” Naresh said, “that you retreat and call off this ill-conceived invasion.”
The leader of the army, Ruhtchat—the new general, now that the old had been slain—shook his head. He had a low brow and bushy eyebrows that nearly covered his eyes.
“We’re all committed,” Ruhtchat said. “We won’t turn back.”
Around him, the rest of the leaders nodded and voiced their consent.
Naresh shrugged. He’d had enough of these fools. He’d done nothing but advise against this course of action for years. For that matter, he’d advised against killing their god.
“Then so be it,” Naresh said. “I leave you to your fate.”
He reached to shake Ruhtchat’s hand, but Ruhtchat did not return the o
ffer. He gave Naresh a cold stare, as did the other men around him.
With another shrug, Naresh turned away. He still had work to do. Perhaps he could salvage the disaster Wrend had made of things.
Athanaric had proven far more powerful than Naresh had anticipated. It was probably just as well. He didn't want to kill Athanaric like he'd killed the other gods. That had only ever resulted in chaos. No, this time he wanted to do things right, ease the god out of control. Wrend was his tool for that. And his plan might have worked if only the boy hadn't developed an unusually stiff spine.
As Ruhtchat started issuing commands behind him, Naresh looked over the desert. Wrend and Athanaric moved along the desert to the west, toward the butte. Wrend led the girl, whoever she was, and Athanaric rode the draegon.
Still gripping his sword, Naresh set off over the desert, using Flux and Thew. He needed to stop Athanaric from killing Wrend and that redhead from killing Athanaric. He bounded over cacti and sage, leaping off of rocks and flying in long, arcing trajectories. At about the time Athanaric and Cuchorack started up the slope after Wrend, he caught a glimpse of a swollen Teirn lying in the dirt, and Calla bent over him.
Ahead, Cuchorack scaled the cliff, with Athanaric on its back and two little figures higher up, leaping for their lives. The draegon roared, drowning out Wrend's and the girl's cries. It half-leapt, half-scrambled up, sending a rain of dirt and rocks down.
Naresh sped up. If Wrend died, it would set Naresh's plans back by decades, perhaps leaving him no choice but to change his stance and support the Hasuken in its campaign against Athanaric. And it would be a shame. Wrend was a fine kid. A little dramatic, but sharp.
As the girl came within one jump of the top of the cliff, Naresh reached the lava stone boulders at the cliff base and started up, moving at an angle so he didn't have to endure that shower of rocks from above. What a shame he hadn't given up on the Hasuken army fifteen seconds earlier. That would have given him the time to reach Athanaric before the god caught up to the kids.
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