Strom pulled Prios's still unconscious form away from the outer edge of the cylinder as sparks flew and bits of rock were blasted away. Above them the obstructions grew ever closer, and Durin could think of no way to save them. There seemed no way to make the floor stop rising. Durin moved to every tile to see if he could make it stop, but the rapid ascent continued unabated. He looked up at the rapidly approaching debris that would kill them, and Durin felt cold wash over him--the harsh realization that he was about to die. Trinda stood next to him, looking upward, and in that last moment, he felt sorry for her.
"Sorry," he said.
Trinda just stuck her tongue out at him then thrust her hands into the air, her eyes squeezed shut and her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. Above them, the air shimmered, and as the debris raced in to crush them, the translucent shield blasted through, sending an ever-increasing cloud of vines and stone racing before it as the walls of the cylinder were blasted clean.
Without warning, they began to slow, leaving a strange feeling in Durin's gut. Light erupted around them, and the air above was filled with soaring debris, much of which was caught by a swift crosswind and sent crashing down the side of the mountain. Bits and pieces fell around them, but most of the big pieces had been carried by the wind.
"You can put your arms down now," Durin said with a bit of sarcasm, but then he considered for a moment that Trinda had just saved him for the third time. Gusts of wind cast stinging sand into the air, but Durin could not avert his eyes from the sight. Only a low, jagged stone wall surrounded them; nothing obscured the view of the twin valleys below and all the way to the sea on all sides. Much of the scenery was marred by the presence of the demon armies and dragons resting on the heights.
Feeling exposed and knowing how vulnerable they were to dragons while standing on the top of this mighty peak, Durin whispered, "How do we get back down?"
Trinda just shrugged, "I don't know."
Looking at the tiles again, Durin saw that the one with mountainlike shapes carved on it had risen back into place and was level with the other tiles. Knowing that dragons might come investigate the commotion at any moment, Durin stepped back onto the tile with mountains carved on it, hoping it would take them back down and slowly at that. Nothing happened, and cold fear bloomed in his gut. Taking another look at the tiles, Durin saw a symbol that looked like fire, and there was one that looked like water, but he didn't think those were what they needed. He was just trying to figure out what the tile with a series of vertical lines meant when a dark shadow passed over them, sending more sand and dirt into the air.
Strom ran to the stone wall and looked down. After a moment, he drew a sharp intake of breath. Trinda crouched by the still form of Prios; the extent of his injuries was difficult to gauge. He'd nearly given his life to protect his son, and now his son was gone. Durin did what he could to stifle his worry and ran to where Strom stood. Looking down from the dizzying height stole Durin's breath.
Strom shouted, "Look out, Brother Vaughn! Dragon!"
Durin hadn't seen him at first, but then he saw the robed man running. He was both thankful that Brother Vaughn was alive and terrified that he wouldn't be for very much longer. Looking tiny at such a distance, the man who had been Sinjin's mentor, and thus also Durin's, stood nearly halfway across an expanse of open grass. There was no way he could move fast enough to get to the cover of the trees or back to the river. Sound carried well in the valley, and they saw Brother Vaughn look up. Durin could only imagine his puzzlement at hearing their voices from the top of the mountain. Then he saw the dragon and turned to run. Durin could see that he would not be fast enough, his death a near certainty. In desperation, Durin threw rocks at the swooping dragon, but the beast was far beyond his reach.
The thought of seeing Brother Vaughn taken made Durin nearly ill, but then he heard something that chilled his blood. Trinda sang. The dragon, fixated on its target, did not react at first, but the longer Trinda sang, the less intent the feral remained on Brother Vaughn. Durin realized that this might save Brother Vaughn, for which he was truly grateful, but he also realized that it made their own situation far more dangerous. The dragons would come. The sight of it was more terrifying than anything Durin had ever seen. Mottled black and gray feral dragons came from every direction. Knifing through the air with economy of motion and awe-inspiring speed, they nipped at each other, issuing deep, guttural growls that sounded like rolling drums, flying with what seemed pure aggression. With one last glance, he saw that Brother Vaughn was near halfway to the trees. Durin looked back up at Strom, who appeared as worried as he was.
Looking again at the carved flames, Durin realized that what he'd thought represented fire also resembled the formations of rock that hung down in the God's Eye. Stepping across, knowing there was no time for discussion, Durin's heart leaped when the stone started sinking beneath his weight, but it stopped sooner than the others had, and nothing happened. It was stuck. The dragons were near, and waves of primal fear washed over Durin and paralyzed him. Strom stepped closer, landing on a tile with a circle carved into it. Nothing happened. The stone Durin stood upon still didn't move, except as part of a tremor that seemed to shake the entire mountain. An instant later, Reaver peered over the jagged stones, his gleaming teeth dwarfing even Strom while promising a knife's edge. Hot breath buffeted them like storm winds, and the eyes of the enormous feral narrowed, seemingly more concerned with understanding how the humans had come to be at the top of a mountain he was guarding rather than looking for a meal, which to Durin was far more frightening. The beast looked as if it had been in a fight every day of its existence. One dark, back-turned horn was sheared off, leaving a jagged stump, and deep crevices ran across its face, making its scales look like a macabre mosaic. Jagged teeth lined a mouth that smelled of death, and Durin nearly retched. Black nostrils flared with each powerful breath, which knocked the shrubbery low and sent small stones tumbling into the valley below.
Nearby, Strom crouched and Prios stirred. Trinda sang. Durin reached out to grab her, but she stepped out of his grasp and closer to Reaver, a feat that Durin was unable to match; deep-seated and overpowering fear rooted his boots in stone. What looked him in the eye was the worst possible nightmare. Trinda took another step; then her pale and delicate hand landed on glossy black scales and deep scars. Reaver remained still for the briefest instant, but then he snorted and drew back his angular and monstrous head. The force of his breath sent Trinda stumbling backward right into Durin’s arms. Their combined weight on the jammed tile resulted in a loud snap. Reaver roared a deafening call filled with malice and intent, and the stone beneath Durin dropped.
* * *
The echoing call from above spurred Brother Vaughn to reckless speed. He'd known that trying to cover open ground would be risky, but dragons had been coming to drink at the river's edge, and it would only have been a matter of time until one of them had found him. As it was, he'd been cold and wet and not thinking clearly. Then the top of the mountain exploded. Brother Vaughn had looked up but saw little besides a cloud of debris and quickly continued his trek, knowing Reaver would come to investigate. Now he stood amid grasses not tall enough to hide him and Reaver bearing down on him. Breathing hard, he pushed his body for all the speed it could produce, knowing it would not be enough. The trees were too far away, and the shadow of the beast closed in behind him. It felt as if all was lost when a familiar and wordless tune rang through the valley like a seductive bell, and Brother Vaughn could only hope the dragon would be drawn away by the singing of the little girl. He could not figure out how she could have gotten to the top of the mountain, but that girl was turning out to be a worthy ally. The instant he had the thought, he regretted it as the realization came that Trinda was at the top of the mountain singing for the dragons.
Darkness rushed up on him, and driven by instinct, Brother Vaughn dived to the ground. An ill wind rustled his robes, and an enormous pair of claws tore trenches in the grass
only a hand’s width from where Brother Vaughn now lay. Looking up, he saw Reaver extend his mighty wings and soar up to the top of the mountain, where he came to a crashing halt, his claws digging into the stone and his massive head peering down at Trinda.
Jumping up and down, Brother Vaughn tried to get Reaver's attention, but then he realized exactly what he was doing, and he started, once again, to run, hoping to make it to the trees before any other dragons saw him. Like in nightmares, the black devils arrived just as he thought of them, and he wasn't certain what he was seeing was real. The only thing that kept the horror from overcoming him was the fact that the dragons were not looking for him; they were looking for Trinda. That thought made him feel no better. Shouts and singing continued to echo from above, and he couldn't help but look up when he heard Reaver snort. A moment later it looked as if the top of the mountain had exploded again. Dust and debris filled the air. Reaver reared back and lunged at the top of the mountain three times as quickly as a striking snake but with stone-shattering force. With a frustrated and angry cry, Reaver leaped back into the air.
Brother Vaughn could only hope that Trinda had found some way to escape. At that moment, though, all he could do was run.
To his astonishment, the world above him erupted again only moments later, and Godsland trembled.
* * *
Catrin and Kyrien rested in the Terhilian Keys for only one night, and she worried over his fitness for battle. His wounds had healed with her assistance, but still she worried.
I am designed for flight, and I can rest while flying. Granted, it is easier to rest on the ground or in water, but I am well rested nonetheless.
His annoyance at her worrying over his well-being was clear, but she could not help it. She cared about him deeply, and their fates were forever bound together. In many ways their desires and intentions had become one, as had their guilt. It was something that only the two of them could share, as no one else alive could claim the guilt of having caused the loss of an entire species. Kyrien's guilt was all the worse since it was his species, but Catrin's pain was as close as anyone alive could get. There had been time for thought and deep reflection, for tears and rage. There had been time to see changes in herself that could not be undone.
As the Godfist materialized from the rising mists, a sick feeling crowded Catrin's gut, and she could feel Kyrien's apprehension as well, but that anxiety soon fanned the banked coals of her anger. This was her homeland, and she would purge it of these wretched devils. Her son was gone, and she wanted to scream. She had let him down when he’d needed her. She had abandoned him for an unsuccessful quest to save the dragons, and now she had lost them both. Miserable over her failure, the pain of it nearly made her burst. Only the presence of her husband's spirit and those of loved ones still shining from within the hold, waiting for her to save them from this menace, gave her strength and hope.
Black ships at the northern harbor came into view first. They would receive no warning and be afforded no mercy. These invaders of her homeland would pay for their arrogance, and Kyrien soared low over the waves, aiming for the ships. A rumbling echo reached them, and a dark cloud rose up from an inland mountain peak. Her uncertainty of the cause became secondary to the realization that the air around that peak was now filled with feral dragons. All of them were in one spot.
It took the sum of her will to resist attacking the ships but she managed. Soaring in low, Kyrien wound through the twisting valleys; Catrin held on and tried to anticipate his next shift based on the approaching terrain. Together they found a rhythm and moved almost as one. Cries occasionally rose up from beneath them, but no warning bells or other alarms rang out, and Catrin watched for signs of trouble. Black armies crowded the valleys, but they were marching out in orderly retreat, leaving behind an obliterated valley. What had been a thriving community was now little more than ash and stone and mud.
Another shout rose from beneath them as they passed, and Kyrien soared higher as the alarm bells rang. The ferals, it seemed, had recovered from their fixation and were in the process of dispersing. The alarms, though, had them all coming toward that sound. The sky ahead became aerial chaos; only instinct kept the dragons from colliding as all of them turned at once to intercept Kyrien.
Catrin launched no early attack and waited for as many of them as possible to get close. Trying to appear wounded and weak, she delayed, her true power kept hidden. She knew these cowardly beasts, and she wanted them to believe that the odds were overwhelmingly in their favor. Instead of worrying about how dangerous their prey was, she wanted them to worry over getting their share of the meal.
Reaver soared closer, an avatar of madness at the head of this storm of violence. Waiting was terrifying, but she had to let them get closer. Reaver alone instilled debilitating fear, but the raging horde was indescribable. Such fear should not exist, for it is almost more than the mind can bear. What approached was madness. She could feel the will of Reaver trying to crush her, trying to subjugate her will, trying to find a way to shatter it completely. Like water through sand, Catrin felt her energy draining away, and every breath became less her own. The gnarled beast had synchronized its breathing with hers, matched its heartbeat with hers; it felt her fear and knew her pain and Catrin screamed.
Kyrien was there.
Unaffected by Reaver's psychic attacks, Kyrien did something that Catrin had never imagined: he took control of her body. Using Catrin, the saddle, and the lance, he leveled an attack on Reaver. Though it felt as if the attack had been wrenched from her gut, it struck Reaver so hard, he looked like a swatted fly.
Two other ferals were injured in the first strike, but Catrin struggled against Kyrien's will. "Neither of you can control me!" she screamed, and Kyrien immediately released the compulsion.
There was no time for anything more. Dragons flew in close; others landed nearby where crowds of men parted.
Catrin launched a series of attacks that would have made Prios proud. Short bursts of thunderous energy cleaved the air and struck dragons, sending ripples through their bodies as the force of the blows spread. At least a dozen dropped from the skies after a single strike and did not rise again; others regained the heights. Aerial chaos reached a new zenith, and only Kyrien could predict where they would be in the next instant.
When Kyrien leveled off for an instant, he gave Catrin the chance to launch another round of attacks. Using the air itself as a weapon, Catrin created a massive concussion. After what had felt like tearing the winds apart, they soared through a cloud of dragons in a variety of states. Some were stunned, others retreating, and a handful were in free fall, quite possible already dead. Kyrien did what he could to evade the attacks of dragons still in the fight, but there was no avoiding some impacts, and Catrin did her best to move away from where the next contact would be.
The air before them once again cleared. Blue skies showed no hint of the danger behind them. But the battle was far from won.
Looking back, Catrin set her jaw. Along the valley floor raced a dozen smaller dragons, now with black-robed men atop their backs. Catrin wasn't certain if Reaver was dead or incapacitated since she could find no sign of his body. For the moment, these riders presented an even greater threat, and she could not let them escape. Turning away from the riderless ferals, Kyrien and Catrin soared over the Pinook Valley, gaining on the mounted formation. Edling's Wall rose up before them. It took a moment for Catrin to understand what she saw. The massive trade gates along with much of the surrounding wall had been blasted away. Almost too late Catrin saw the black scales that waited just beyond the open gate.
Rising to his full height, Reaver extended his mighty wings and roared in triumph. His roar was cut short as Catrin leveled an especially deadly attack at his exposed chest. Reaver's flesh moved like water as it waved away from the impact. Fingers of plasma rolled over the screaming dragon, and the force drove the massive creature backward.
Kyrien landed, his claws on the mighty black dragon's
neck. Pushing off as hard as he could, he thrust Reaver the rest of the way over backward and sent himself and Catrin back into the air, which began exploding around them.
Chapter 3
Creation is the act of being unwilling to allow something not to exist.
--Aleese Berunda, artist
* * *
Catrin had often wondered what it would feel like to be hit by one of her attacks, and now she knew. The energy felt as if it would rip her apart from the inside out, and the pain could not be compared to anything she'd ever experienced. Each time the pain from one excruciating attack eased, another slammed her from a different angle, and she was tossed from side to side by the force. These men on dragonback were potent and fearsome adversaries; she could feel their hatred of her. She would have screamed if she could have gathered any air into her chest; this attack would surely suffocate her if it continued. In the next instant, though, she was sucking air into her lungs as they had turned upside-down and the attacks simultaneously ceased. Feeling as if her ribs were broken and with blood on her lips, Catrin could do little more than breathe, and that was difficult.
Turbulent air buffeted them, and Kyrien's flight path wobbled. Through their bond she could sense his pain, but she could not form a cohesive thought required for action. With growing horror, she watched Kyrien's head jerked side to side, absorbing the attacks. With a thunderous crack, a mighty blow caught Kyrien under the chin, snapping his head back toward Catrin. In the next instant, they were plummeting toward a rocky death. Knowing Kyrien was unconscious and would be unable to save them, Catrin quickly, almost instinctively, mimicked what she'd done when flying the Slippery Eel. The knowledge that the ship would never sail or fly again haunted Catrin, but she had no time for those thoughts. Flying an unconscious dragon was nothing like flying a ship, and Catrin nearly crashed them into the trees. The dark riders had turned and were gaining on her, their dragons looking fresh and ready for a fight.
The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) Page 27
