by Dan Koboldt
Callan Rainswood was just as Holt had described him: tall, bearded, and built like a wrestler. He wore rawhide chaps beneath a woolen shirt, but the clothing faded into the background. In the foreground was the arbalest tucked under his arm. This was a heavy crossbow used against cavalry. Quinn had never seen one in this world; Logan had told him that most soldiers couldn’t carry one for distance. Rainswood cradled it as if it were a child’s toy.
Gods knew what he might need that for, among his menagerie.
“You must be Rainswood,” Quinn called. He whispered to the mule. “No sudden moves, please.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Quinn. I’m here on behalf of the Valteroni Prime.”
The man looked him over with a distrusting eye. “Prove it.”
Jeez, he’s as paranoid as Holt made him out to be. Worse, even. “You met him for the first time in the Tioni marshes, when you were hunting log lizards.”
“Go on.”
“The second time you met him, he gave you a book. Compendium of Poisonous Snakes, I believe it was called.”
“Compendium of Venomous Snakes, actually,” Rainswood said. “But close enough.”
“Good. Thank you.” Quinn started to dismount. “I’m here to—”
Rainswood snapped the crossbow up and took aim faster than seemed humanly possible. “Stay where you are, stranger.”
Quinn froze with one foot in the stirrup and one in the air. “What’s the matter?”
“Need a third assurance,” Rainswood said.
Uh-oh. Holt had given him only two. “Come on, man. Who else would even know to find this place?”
The man said nothing, but shifted his crossbow in his massive hand.
Quinn racked his brain, but couldn’t remember any other details that Holt had told him. Certainly not something private enough to act like a passcode. It didn’t seem like Holt to make a careless mistake. This must be part of the test, too. “Well, what about this? A few months ago, you helped him put something in a wyvern’s nest. And you loaned him a few of your Alissian wild dogs.”
Rainswood grunted. “Didn’t get all of them back, either.”
I might have had something to do with that, Quinn didn’t say. This guy seemed a little attached to his animals. “So, are we all right now?”
“Sure.” He set the crossbow on a table inside the cottage door. “Say, you didn’t happen to see a very large snake on the way in here, did you?”
The question caught him off guard. “Uh, no. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“It sounds kind of important.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it.” Rainswood spread out his massive hands in an inviting kind of gesture. “So, what can I do for the Valteroni Prime?”
Quinn felt like he should get a bit more information, but time was short. Remind me to ride twice as fast out of this place. He cleared his throat. “He’s sent me to ask if we can borrow an egg.”
“What kind of egg?”
“The biggest one you’ve got.”
“The biggest one I have belongs to a wyvern. Is that what you want?”
“Gods, are you serious? I’d love to know how you pulled that off.”
“I have my ways.”
“Apparently. So, where’s the mother?”
“Up in the mountains, but not far enough away for my comfort.” Rainswood spat to one side. “The moment that thing hatches, it’ll put out a siren call for its mother. I should’ve destroyed it.”
“Why haven’t you?” Quinn asked.
“Can’t bring myself to do it.”
“So let me take the egg off your hands. I think we can put it to good use.”
Rainswood considered a moment, but shook his head. “Too dangerous. It’s close to hatching.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can travel faster than most people.”
“If you let it get cold and the thing hatches, do you know what to do?”
“I can take a guess.”
Rainswood frowned at him. “Go ahead.”
“I get it as far away from me as possible.”
The big man grunted. “That’s half of it.”
Damn, this guy never gives full credit, does he? “What’s the other half?”
Rainswood stared at him with a gaze so intense that Quinn couldn’t match it. He looked down at his boots, then back up.
“You run,” Rainswood said. “Fast as you can, low as you can, and pray that the mother doesn’t see you. Even when she has her brood back, if she thinks you came near it . . .”
“The territorial thing. I get it,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think you do. A wyvern can outpace a horse at full gallop. On a smart mule, you won’t stand a chance.”
“I said I get it.” He had to move this along, too, or risk being caught out here at nightfall with the Rainswood menagerie. No thank you. “The longer we stand around talking, the closer that thing gets to hatching. You going to give it to me, or should I tell the Prime you refused?”
Rainswood stared at him a moment, and then shrugged. “Your funeral, bub.” He went inside the cabin and emerged a minute later with a large, cloth-wrapped bundle. He stumped down and thrust it into Quinn’s hands.
“Gods, it’s so warm,” Quinn whispered. He could feel the heat even through the wrappings.
“Best keep it that way,” Rainswood said. “Wyverns roll an egg out of the nest to hatch it, so you let this thing cool, and it’ll take that as a signal.”
Quinn tucked it beneath his cloak to keep off the snow. “I’ll tell the Prime you were helpful.”
“Tell him we’re even.” Rainswood strode back into his cabin without another word.
“He’s a polite one.” Quinn tapped his mule on the flank. “Take us back the way we came, please.”
The mule did an about-face and set off down the road. The flurries in the air thickened to a dedicated snowing. Quinn had trouble keeping the right balance with the thick bundle tucked under his cloak. He’d just found a good position and looked up when he saw a big log lying across the road. “That’s new.”
The log rippled sideways, scraping across the gravel. Quinn nearly fell out of his saddle. It’s a goddamn snake. Easily as thick as his leg, and twenty feet long. He froze. The mule stopped on its own accord at a respectful distance. He had to admit, maybe smart mule was an accurate name after all.
The snake shifted again, grinding through the gravel as it slid off the road. Its head reared up till it was level with Quinn’s. The eyes were amber, and as big as silver dollars. Jet-black pupils narrowed to slits as it looked at him. Quinn’s chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t any more afraid of snakes than the next guy, but this thing was a monster.
The snake flicked out a vein-blue tongue that had to be a foot long. Its eyes fell to the bulky shape beneath Quinn’s cloak. As if it knew what it was. Quinn considered going for his sword, but thought better of it. Maybe I should say something. “Rainswood gave it to me.”
The tongue flicked out and back in again.
Quinn took a cue from the mule and kept stock-still, waiting. Trying not to show how terrified he was. Trying not to think about the ever-cooling egg underneath his cloak.
The snake lowered its head to the ground and slithered off the road into the woods on the right-hand side.
Thank the gods. The mule trembled beneath him. Its neck was taut, and the ears lay flat against its head. Quinn leaned down and put a hand on the back of its neck. “We’re all right. Let’s go before it changes its mind.”
The mule lurched forward.
Quinn took a breath, and smiled. For once, he didn’t even have to say please.
Quinn made the rendezvous point as the sun began to slip below the horizon. There hadn’t been a good contingency plan for if he missed the meeting. Knowing Moric, he might zip back to the Enclave and forget about him for a couple of weeks.
The gods must have taken pity on him, because Moric w
aited at the rendezvous point on a smart mule of his own.
“I was beginning to worry about you,” he called when he spotted Quinn. Then he did a double take. “You’re pale as a ghost. Have you taken ill?”
Quinn shook his head and glanced behind him for what must have been the hundredth time. “I just saw a really big snake.”
“You’re afraid of snakes?”
“Not usually.” Quinn shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “It was a hell of a snake.”
“Did you get what the Prime requested?”
Quinn hoisted the bundle. Its unnatural warmth trickled into his fingertips, even through the gloves. “Right here. A mountain wyvern’s egg.”
Moric’s eyes widened. “That’s the egg he wanted?”
“I think so. It’s biggest one Rainswood had.”
“What kind of a fool are you?”
Quinn smiled. “What, are you afraid of eggs?”
“Eggs, no. The mother of those eggs, absolutely. Have you ever encountered a fully grown mountain wyvern?”
“Believe it or not, I have. And it was—” The rest of the boast died on his lips as the egg shuddered. “Uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think it might hatch.”
“What?”
The egg shook again, then went still. “Never mind. I think we’re all—”
There came a loud crack as a fracture appeared in the top of the egg.
“Or maybe not so much.”
“What are we supposed to do if it hatches?” Moric demanded.
“Get it far away from us and then run really fast.”
“Oh, that’s superbly helpful.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re getting this back to Valteron. At least not while it’s still in egg form.”
“What do you propose?”
“Hang on, I’m thinking.” There was no getting this egg back the way Holt wanted it. Yet a wyvern egg was a rare thing. A potentially destructive thing. Alissia’s answer to bioweapons. “We need to take it near the mountains. That’s where the mother is.”
“If that’s where the mother is, shouldn’t we do the opposite?”
“No. The Prime wants us to cause trouble for CASE Global. I know just the place.”
Chapter 19
Delivery
“Alissians may not be able to match our technology, but that advantage only gets us so far.”
—R. Holt, “Ramifications of Technological Disparities”
A frigid northerly wind blew out of the mountains, cutting through Quinn’s heavy cloak like it wasn’t even there. His feet, too, sensed the encroaching chill from the knee-deep snow. The egg trembled against his chest. Hold on, little guy.
He took a second to get his bearings. The ridge overlooking the gateway cave’s valley was just uphill. Moric had brought them right to it. “Hey, not bad. You saved us a walk.”
“It’ll be dark before long. Where do you want to go?”
Quinn pointed at the ridge. “Up there. I need to see the valley.”
They asked the mules to stay put. Quinn let Moric go first, and clutched the egg against his chest as he trudged along in the furrow Moric made in the snow. Near the top of the ridge, he tried crouching, but couldn’t do that and keep his balance with the egg. So he sank to his knees, ignoring the bite of the snow through his pants.
The sun had already dipped below the line of mountain peaks to the west, casting the valley into twilight. They’d driven stakes into the ground at regular intervals to hold artificial lanterns, which provided enough light to see by, but didn’t create an unnatural glow that might draw attention. Smart. Neat rows of familiar pup tents were arranged in a grid across most of the valley floor, from the fenced-off horse enclosure all the way up to where they’d parked the siege engines.
“It’s more crowded than I remember,” Moric said quietly. “Do you think the missing soldiers returned?”
“Maybe.” But Quinn thought it more likely that this represented a new wave of mercenaries on CASE Global’s payroll. Jesus, they must have spun up a major training program months ago. Right after the second mission got under way, most likely. Yet another piece of Kiara’s master plan clicked into place. Now I know why she was so eager to make Holt vulnerable. “Either way, there’s a hell of a lot of men down there, so I hope this works.” He unwrapped the cloth around the egg. The shell was off-white, almost yellowed, and had a dull shine. He put a palm on it. It was slick under his fingers, almost like ceramic. Still warm, but cooling fast.
“All right, what’s your plan?” Moric asked.
“We’re going to put this right in the middle of the camp. If you can lift it—”
"Oh, I’m not lifting anything.”
Quinn did a double take. “Why not?”
“Richard mentioned that you felt like you need more instruction.” Moric gestured at the egg. “This seems like an excellent opportunity.”
The egg shifted again, and almost fell over. Jesus. Quinn heaved it upright again. “We don’t have a lot of time for this.”
“Then quit stalling.”
Quinn stifled a groan. I asked for it. “I feel like I should practice on a rock first.”
“Absolutely not. We learn best by doing.”
“I’m worried I’ll break it.”
“Do you routinely break eggs when you pick them up?” Moric asked.
“No, but I know to be gentle. It’s instinct, you know?”
“The same thing applies here. Just think of your magic as an extension of your hand. That’s essentially what it will be.”
Quinn sighed, closed his eyes, and reached for the magic. It filled him with pulsing warmth. He opened his eyes and focused on the egg. Imagined a soft hand lifting it from underneath. The egg wobbled and almost fell. He cursed. All right, two hands beneath it. The hum of magic filled his ears with buzz. The egg steadied, and lifted up from the ground. He could feel the smoothness of the shell, the warmth of it.
“Unreal,” he breathed. They were his hands. Now he understood why it felt the way it did, when Moric or Sella used magic to smack him back into line. Or when Jillaine held him so he couldn’t move. Like a massive hand wrapped around his body.
That realization gave him the confidence to keep going. He carried the egg out from the ridge, beyond the safety of its snow-blanketed landscape. Better not to think about what would happen if he lost control of it now. But that wouldn’t happen. He held it in his hands, now, and he was good with his hands. Certainly good enough to keep an egg from falling to the ground.
This is child’s play. He maintained the self-delusion as he floated the egg farther out over the vale.
In the fading light, it was harder to keep his eye on it. The strain of keeping it steady intensified until his real hands began to shake. “I think it’s getting harder.”
“The greater the distance, the greater the cost to the magician,” Moric said.
Quinn guided the egg over the first rows of tents. It was hard to even see it. His entire world was the pinpoint of the pale, round shape that floated fifty feet above the ground. Most of the mercs had already bivouacked for the night in their cozy pup tents, no doubt preferring the warmth of the self-contained nuclear heaters to Felara’s frigid night air. Still, a couple of two-man patrols walked up and down the rows at random intervals. Any one of them might look up and spot the egg hovering unnaturally overhead, if he let it go much lower. Not that going lower would help things much: a fall from twenty feet would be no less devastating than a fall from fifty. Even if the egg somehow survived, the impact of a large heavy object in the middle of a soldier camp would set this wide open.
The mercenaries had shoveled the top layer of snow into long waist-high snowdrifts between their rows of tents. These ran roughly east-west, so Quinn had his pick. He aimed for the widest one, smack-dab in the middle of the mercenary encampment. The strain of holding the egg that long began to gnaw at him from the inside out. Jesus, this is hard.
He began lowering the egg, taking care not to do so too quickly. It drifted silently down on his magical fingertips, down to where the snow was. At this distance, he couldn’t gauge the height with too much accuracy. All he could do was lower it slowly, while his abdomen shook and his arms burned with invisible fire. At last, he felt a chill on the back of his right hand, the sharp-cold feeling of snow against bare skin. “I think that’s it.”
“Well done,” Moric said.
Quinn let the lifting-hand fade away, but held on to the flow of the magic. Tired as he was, the flush tingling of it coursing through his body had an addictive sort of hold on him.
Moric put a hand on his shoulder. “Let it go, son.”
Quinn frowned, but complied, and didn’t manage to hide his disappointment at the void it left behind. “Sorry.”
“The magic will tempt you more each time, begging you to hold on a bit longer.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” In truth, he’d simply pegged it for the elation of being able to call upon magic whenever he wanted. How many times had Sella tried to beat or frighten the ability out of him? He’d lost count. Now, to think he could summon it as a whim, brought a twinge of excitement. “Should I be worried about that?”
“Most magic users learn to control the impulse as children, in the same way that we control hunger and thirst.”
Perfect. “Yet another thing I missed out on.”
“You seemed to spend your youth in other productive ways.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
He’s a good teacher. Probably better than Jillaine, if truth be told. Maybe because he’d had to learn this stuff himself, whereas Jillaine simply grew up with it.
The wind picked up as they waited. Moric drew his cloak tighter around himself. “How long will it take for the egg to—”
