As he landed on the topmost boulder before the steeper dirt slope, a second roar drowned out the first. A second draegon come over the cliff's lip.
And what a beautiful creature it was. Long and sleek, with shiny red fur. Not the dull, dead fur of Cuchorack, but living and vibrant. It looked almost like red fire plunging down the cliff past the girl and Wrend.
It tucked its wings in against its back and ducked low, under Cuchorack's horns and sweeping the zombie's legs out from beneath it. Athanaric leapt off the saddle, straight out from the cliff face as the two draegons tumbled down the slope. They rolled in a tangle of limbs and slender necks, claws lashing out at each other and mouths snapping. The ground trembled as they bounced down.
Athanaric, losing only a little altitude, pushed himself back against the cliff. After a glance down at the draegons as they neared the black boulders, he started to leap up the cliff face. The man never gave up.
Wrend and the girl spurred back to action. She pulled him onto her little ledge, where he paused a moment to kiss her—ah, how tender—and together they jumped up to the top of the butte. They disappeared from view about the time the draegons hit the boulders and bounced down them, one level at a time.
Maybe Wrend and the girl would escape, after all.
Naresh started forward and up, to follow Athanaric, but halted as his eyes found the struggle raging below him, not a hundred feet away, at the base of the boulders. The two draegons had regained their feet and swatted at each other with claws. Cuchorack's head was bare; its horns had snapped off.
But it was bigger and faster, and as a zombie felt no pain. It attacked the sleeker draegon with abandon, slashing and clawing. They rose up on their hind legs and moved in close to each other, almost like they intended to embrace. Their roars echoed from the cliff face, filling the air with confusion. Cuchorack tackled the smaller draegon backward and pinned it down with its sheer size. The smaller draegon clawed and pushed and snapped his jaws, but it wouldn't matter. He was tired and injured, and wouldn't last long.
Above, Athanaric disappeared over the cliff.
Naresh faltered for only a moment before deciding the kids were on their own. He couldn't help them.
But he could help the draegon.
He jumped down from his perch, aiming his trajectory for the saddle on Cuchorack's shoulders, at the base of his neck, and pulling his sword back and over his head.
There was only one way to kill a zombie.
The wind rushed in his face. He pushed and pulled with Flux, adjusting his path each instant. The draegons rocked back and forth, side to side as they struggled for dominance. For a moment Naresh thought he would miss his target. But he didn't. He landed right in the saddle.
Draegon hide—especially that which had been dead for seventeen years and cured with bucket loads of nitrate—was thick and tough, and it required a great deal of Thew and Flux to push the sword through Cuchorack's neck. The first swipe, to the left, cut deep into the neck, but the sword wasn't long enough to sever the neck entirely. Another swipe, to the right, with his arm deep in the draegon's neck, did the job.
The dog spirit, freed of the draegon's body, rose into the air all around Naresh. A swirling white mist, it surrounded him, making the hair on his arms stand up, and goose bumps rise all over his flesh. The draegon neck and head tumbled away, nitrate spilling out of both ends of the stem with the sound like grain pouring onto stone. The undead body—now dead—trembled and rose up, and collapsed onto the other draegon.
Naresh jumped backward and up, out of the hovering spirit, using Flux to find a place on the black boulders as the smaller draegon roared, pushed the corpse off, and jumped to his feet. He plunged his teeth into the belly of the dead draegon, and came away with a mouthful of hair, flesh, and nitrate. Then he did it again.
The dog spirit, its hovering done, began to rise. It gathered speed, so that in only a few moments it was higher than the lip of the plateau, and diminishing as it went up to join the other souls in the firmament. By the time Naresh looked back down, the draegon had ceased its mutilation of the body, and stood staring at him. Numerous wounds matted its fur with blood, but no pain or worry shone in its eyes.
Only victory and pride.
Naresh met the gaze.
“We need,” he said, “to go save those other two, now.”
He had no idea if the draegon understood humanspeak, but it was worth a try. If he could get the draegon to carry him up to the top of the plateau, maybe he could do some good for Wrend and the girl.
The draegon cocked his head to one side. He spoke in draegonspeak.
“Then get on, fool.”
Chapter 86: No way around
At some point, words simply fail. You cannot run any further. You cannot hide anymore. All that’s left is physical conflict.
-Wrend
The plateau stretched flat for no more than a mile ahead of Wrend, and less than a quarter mile on each side. Near the far end, it narrowed nearly to a point. Wrend had no idea what they would do when they ran out of ground.
“Maybe coming up here wasn’t so smart,” he said.
They ran side by side, using Flux to leap a hundred feet at a time. If anything, the ground on the plateau was rockier, with fewer yuccas and pinions. Red, white, and black snakes slithered in abundance over the warm stones. He’d nearly crushed one as he landed on one rock. It had struck at his heel, but he moved fast enough that it had missed.
A hundred yards back, the Master bounded over the landscape, his armor clanking in the wind and each footstep sounding like a drum in Wrend’s ears. He gained on them each moment.
“We’re fine,” Leenda said. “We’ll jump off of the edge.”
Wrend doubted he could do that. Jumping parallel to the ground or leaping higher were completely different than hurling himself off of a three-hundred-foot cliff. Of course, if it meant the difference between pulverization by the Master and even another ten seconds of life as he fell to his death, the choice practically made itself.
But as he looked back again, he realized that it might not matter. The Master approached them too quickly.
“We’ve got to go faster,” he said.
“It’s up to you. I'm holding back. You need to push harder with Flux.”
He didn’t know if he could, though. He already felt at his limits. He’d only barely figured out how to use Flux, and it took great concentration not to stumble each time a foot landed. As he took a few running steps before each leap, his legs could barely move fast enough to maintain the momentum and speed, and several times he’d nearly tripped forward.
The next time he looked back, the Master seemed nearly upon them. Just fifty yards back. He towered over everything on the plateau.
“Maybe,” Wrend said, “we can trick him into going over the edge. Then we can turn around and go back the other way. To Krack.”
She gave him a frown, but nodded. “He would need to be right on us when we reach the edge. Then we stop and turn around after he takes his last jump over the edge.”
“If we can outrun him that long.”
She grunted. The ground slipped away, just a blur of red rocks and greenish blue sagebrushes. Clumps of poison sage, much smaller than what Teirn had fallen into, spotted the plateau.
Teirn had died. Wrend’s stomach churned at the thought.
The Master continued to gain on them as the butte narrowed. Ahead, it came to a point at its very tip, and the ground dropped away into nothingness. Miles and miles on, red mountains rose against the sky.
“Quit looking back so much,” Leenda said.
But Wrend couldn’t stop. He didn’t dare look back for too long, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see how close the Master was. He grew nearer every moment, became larger. He looked terrible in his armor, the way the steel glinted in the sun and gave an angular appearance to the edges of his body.
They needed to time this just right. The Master needed to be in mid-flight in a leap that
would carry him over the edge right as they landed and reversed their direction. Hopefully, his momentum would be so strong he couldn’t correct his trajectory even with Flux.
It was a big if, and the timing was another big if, but Wrend didn’t see another option.
“Wrend,” the Master said, so loud and close that Wrend was certain they wouldn’t make the cliff’s lip. “You can’t escape.”
Wrend took another leap, just a few feet ahead of Leenda. It was his last one. When they landed next, they would have to stop and change directions.
The edge of the butte narrowed to just a few dozen feet, and the ground dropped away on both sides and ahead of Wrend. He aimed for the long, narrow rock at the very tip of the butte.
Behind him, the Master landed and took two steps. The booming of his feet sounded in perfect rhythm to indicate that he’d lifted off again. Wrend couldn’t look back to verify, for he’d reached the edge. He landed a dozen feet from the brink, on a long, narrow rock, and reversed his application of Flux.
His body objected to the change of momentum, shooting pain through his torso. His feet nearly slipped on the film of dirt covering the rock, but it worked. He came to a stutter-step stop at the very edge of the cliff, and Leenda halted behind him.
They turned around at the same time. Wrend expected to see the Master soaring over them, but instead he stood on the solid ground forty feet back, shaking his head.
“You should have known I could hear the two of you plotting,” the Master said. He advanced toward them.
Leenda swore. Wrend’s heart dropped into his stomach.
“I guess we go over the edge and keep running,” Wrend said.
In the distance, far past the Master, nearly at the other end of the plateau, a red motion against the blue sky caught his eye. Leenda pointed at it.
“It’s Krack! He survived.”
The Master advanced, growing larger in Wrend’s vision.
“We have to go around him,” Leenda said. “If we can get to Krack, he can help us escape.”
Wrend swallowed hard and looked behind him. The drop seemed a better alternative than heading toward the Master. But they didn’t have much time to think.
Leenda leaned close to him, placing her lips in his ears and whispering.
“I’ll attack him head on. You go around him.”
Wrend started to object, but he was too slow. As Leenda drew away from him, she leapt. And, besides, the Master was too close anyway; if Wrend had jumped off of the edge, the Master would’ve been only an instant behind.
Leenda screamed as she surged in a direct line toward the Master’s chest. It seemed ridiculous for her, a tiny thing, to attack such a monster. Wrend followed, but did as she’d instructed, leaping to the left to go around the Master, along the edge of the cliff.
The Master chose to go for him and completely ignore Leenda. His eyes bulged with wrath.
Wrend pushed with Flux. It might have been enough, but the Master did the same.
And so did Leenda. She directed her path so fast that she became a blur, and landed on Athanaric’s back. She clawed his eyes. He roared in rage, and grasped for her.
Wrend decreased his application of Flux, slowing his flight so that the Master and Leenda passed directly in front of him—then out over the edge.
Watching them start to descend, he began to cry out, fearing the worst for Leenda, but twenty feet down she stood on the Master’s shoulders and pushed off, jumping back up to the plateau. The Master slowed and veered in toward the cliff, striking it sixty feet down with a boom. Leenda landed next to Wrend. He gaped, but she pulled on his arm and started to run.
“It's not over!” she said.
Indeed, Wrend stood close enough to the edge that he could see the Master scrambling for purchase as he slid down the rocks. He would never give up. Not ever.
Wrend took off after Leenda. They bounded from rock to rock. She moved faster than him, apparently not holding back this time. The distance between them increased each moment. She moved almost twice as fast as him. Krack floated over the ground with grace and speed. The distance between them lessened visibly each moment. Leenda’s voice floated back to Wrend as they ran. Her voice nearly cracked, as if she were about to cry.
“He came!” she said. “He came, he came!”
“Wrend, you can’t escape.”
He fought the urge to look back at the Master. It would only slow him, and probably scare him to see how fast the Master moved.
As Leenda approached him, Krack landed and tucked his wings against his shoulder. A gray-haired man—whom Wrend hadn’t noticed before—leapt from his back. He jumped past Leenda and stepped atop a rock to look out toward Wrend.
Naresh.
The draegon growled something at Leenda, baring its teeth.
“We need to escape,” she said.
Wrend slowed as he approached the group, taking shorter leaps. Even bent low to the ground, the draegon loomed tall and threatening.
“You have to leave,” Naresh said, glancing at Leenda. “Now. It’s your only chance to escape.”
Leenda nodded and jumped up onto the draegon’s shoulder. Wrend stopped next to Naresh, giving him a long and steady look. He had no idea what to say. Naresh met his eyes with firmness, and nodded.
“We’ll talk later,” he said. “Get going.”
Wrend nodded and jumped up onto the draegon’s shoulder, directly behind Leenda. It occurred to him that it was a sign of his numbness and alarm that he didn’t even think twice about it.
The Master approached, still releasing that constant, enraged roar. Naresh turned to face him.
Krack lumbered to his feet, turning as he did. The fur was soft and smooth—not at all like Cuchorack’s. The muscles flexed and hardened beneath Wrend. As the draegon spread his wings wide, a breeze touched the back of Wrend’s neck. The draegon took a few running steps. Somehow, the motion felt familiar to Wrend. Something tickled the back of his mind, in that unknown place where he’d first questioned the Master. That tickling was just a vague memory—something he couldn’t quite grasp.
Krack flapped his wings and lifted off of the ground.
And from the deepest part of his mind, Wrend remembered flying.
Chapter 87: Re-commitment to life
My people are my motivation. I live to serve them. And I will live as long as is necessary to secure for them a peaceful and prosperous future.
-Athanaric
Athanaric suppressed a scream of frustration as the draegon lifted off the ground. He was so close. Just a few surges of Flux and Thew away.
And now Naresh blocked his path.
He couldn't ignore the Godslayer. He'd made a mistake only a few moments before, in ignoring the girl, and now his right eye bled and his vision blurred. It made running difficult, but he didn't have enough Thew to heal it right away; he needed everything he had to catch up with and kill his traitorous son.
The boy had mangled Calla. He'd killed Teirn. He'd betrayed all Athanaric had raised him for. He had to die.
“Give up!” the Godslayer said.
He stood atop a rock, his arms folded across his chest as if he had the right to command a god despite the rips and stains marring his clothing.
Athanaric didn't respond. The man bore no weapon or means of defense beyond his Ichor. And since Athanaric had the size advantage, this would be fast. If not easy.
Hopefully.
He took a step and applied a surge of Flux to the center of his body, so his speed increased. He intended to simply collide with the man, grab him, and crush him in a deadly grip. But Naresh blurred into motion, dodging to the side—fast enough that Athanaric completely missed. In fact, he flew past where Naresh had stood, over the ground where the draegon had taken off from only a few seconds before.
The beast flew straight toward the end of the plateau, not high off of the ground. It couldn't go far. Draegons couldn't fly for miles and miles like a bird. They had to land frequently. An
d if this draegon wanted to reach anywhere safe, it would need to touch down on the plateau at least once, then take a few steps before it lifted off again.
Athanaric looked back to see Naresh land and hurtle after him. He increased his own surge of Flux, harvesting it as it emanated from his body. He had a fair amount of Flux. He could afford to go faster even if doing so would deplete the Ichor much quicker than he could harvest it. That would probably cause him to run out, but it seemed like his only chance to catch Wrend.
It seemed like the best course of action.
He landed. The rock beneath him cracked under his weight and momentum. He took one step and jumped again, pushing with everything he had toward the draegon.
The skin of his face seemed to flatten. He could feel it. His body cried out in objection to the thrust; a dull pain coursed through his every muscle and bone. He couldn't harvest the Ichor as fast as he depleted it, and his store began to diminish. He didn't care, though. He gained on the draegon ten feet a second.
The draegon touched down at the cliff's edge, took several steps, and soared out over the brink, its wings flapping. It headed toward the opposite butte, about half a mile across the gap. The girl crouched low against the draegon's neck, but Wrend sat up straight, with his arms spread wide and his head tilted back, as if he were trying to fly. It looked like he might fall.
Athanaric touched down on the edge of the cliff and jumped out into the open air. He didn't even consider not doing it, even despite the rate at which his Flux drained out of him.
Below, his army marched through the gap, toward the Hasuken army. In moments they would clash. They looked like little bugs with banners, scrambling along the red ground.
Athanaric soared toward the draegon. Closer and closer. He came within sixty feet of the draegon. Fifty. Forty. The wind in his face blew so strong that he nearly couldn't breathe. His soul felt deflated as the Flux flowed out of him. It wouldn’t last much longer, let alone long enough for him to reach the opposite side of the gap. Leenda turned around on the draegon, clutching at Wrend and shaking him. Wrend had his head tilted back as if to drink in the wind, and laughed. He laughed, laughed, laughed. Like a madman.
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