Aaron banked Marsail around the column and again saw Odell, streaking towards another. His movements were less steady, new to this aspect of flying. Aaron gained some distance before the following bank.
Next was a series of the columns. Aaron mimicked Odell’s careful route, glad he did so when the last turn involved a quick adjustment to clear a low-rising, wide rock formation. Odell had planned the move, hoping to force Aaron off course. When Aaron cleared it, he saw the Sunken looking back on him, grinning wildly.
Odell banked sharply, taking his dragon close to the water. Aaron held a slightly higher altitude, pacing him. If Odell lost enough speed, he could have Marsail pounce. The struggle would be brief. Marsail was one of the few dragons in the kingdoms trained not to roll in a fight. The CA dragon wouldn’t be. He’d toss the Sunken into the waters below. Even if the fall didn’t kill Odell, the threshers would. And if he survived to escape, it would be without a dragon, his only place to crawl away would be back under the Plate, friendless and weakened.
Odell cut to his left, catching Aaron off guard with the speed of the maneuver. He skimmed just over a low column, then headed straight for a tunnel at the base of a massive formation in front of them. Aaron cursed. He’d given up too much altitude. If Odell successfully shot the short tunnel, he’d come out on the other side of the formation. If Aaron went over it, he’d lose too much time. And he’d lose sight of the Sunken and his new dragon, giving them time to hide. Aaron pushed his palm down on Marsail’s back, signaling for him to fly lower and follow Odell through the tunnel, the dragon only too happy to continue the chase.
The moonlight was visible at the far end of the short tunnel. It was just wide enough for the dragons to fly through with their wings spread. The tunnel’s floor was the calm harbor waters, its walls carved into the rock. The water glistened at the entry and exit points as Odell flew through. Aaron saw him bank sharply upwards after clearing it. Marsail entered the tunnel. Aaron was studying the exit, coaxing Marsail into readiness for a rapid ascent to match Odell, when the trap sprang.
Near the tunnel’s far exit Aaron heard a sharp, mechanical click and the moonlight spun around him as he was pulled down into the water, a rope wrapping over his waist. He opened his mouth to shout, but saltwater was forced down his throat. He struggled, pinned against his thrashing dragon, ropes everywhere. Aaron managed to twist painfully out of the one that held him, helped by a sudden roll from Marsail. Aaron was still pinned at the wrist, rope holding him tight against Marsail’s scales. He took a quick breath, looking around.
They were in the water, held down by a series of ropes. He saw a harpoon lying near him in the water, one which hadn’t connected. He turned and saw the end of a similar rope, where the harpoon had buried itself deep in Marsail’s side. The moonlit water was darkened by blood. “Oh no,” he said, horror weakening his voice.
He fumbled for his sword, unable to reach it, and instead grabbed the knife out of his belt. Everything was silent except the ringing of his ears. He sliced the rope which pinned his hand to the dragon. Where was Marsail’s head? Could he breathe?
Aaron remembered Odell’s last turn. He’d been circling, preparing for this, counting on Aaron falling prey to his trap. Which he had. Aaron turned and looked up, trying to find stable purchase on the struggling dragon. Odell was returning, his dragon moving slowly.
From this vantage point, Aaron could better see the trap and what it had done to Marsail. A hideous scene. Seven or eight harpoons had launched simultaneously, throwing ropes up, around, and through the dragon. They were tethered to the walls of the tunnel at the waterline. The dragon’s momentum had pulled him and Aaron forward into the moonlight and open water. They were exposed to attack from above. And below.
Aaron kept the approaching Odell in the corner of his eye as he frantically began sawing at the closest rope. Where was Marsail’s head? Aaron cut through and felt a sudden pressure shift. Marsail’s massive head swung up to rest on the water’s surface, more ropes preventing it from getting all the way out. He’d earned just enough room for the dragon to breath. Marsail coughed and choked as water flooded back in his throat. His large eye swung towards Aaron. Aaron had never seen fear in a dragon, especially not his, the best of the SDC’s massive stock, possibly the strongest in the world. The eye carried a message of terror. Marsail was dying.
Odell’s shadow fell over Aaron and he turned quickly, holding his small knife up as though it could ward off a dragon’s talons. Odell wasn’t attacking, however, his dragon holding position just above Aaron and his dying dragon. Odell leaned over the side to look down, cruel grin in place. The dragon’s wingbeats washed a cold wind over Aaron.
“That trap waited long for its prey,” Odell said. “More than a year. The CA riders never took the bait to come out this far.” He leaned over his dragon and patted it on the back. “Perhaps I just needed the right tools.” He turned and looked back towards the Plate, then reached forward and cut through the rope holding the Camron Air flags to his dragon. They fluttered to the waters and lay there limply. “I’d love to stay and chat,” he said, “but I’ve got so many places to go. But don’t fear, little fish. I’m not leaving you alone. One is never short of company this near the harbor waters. Even on the full moon.” Odell gestured out to the waters, where Aaron saw thresher fins approaching. With that, Odell turned and began flying away, back in the direction of Surdoore.
Aaron stared after him a moment, then rose to his feet, ignoring for a second that his only perch, the only thing separating him from the waters, was the bleeding, impaled, and trapped body of his dragon. “I’ll find you!” he screamed after Odell. “I’ll find you and I’ll fucking end you!” He looked down, his voice losing all strength. “You’ll pay for this,” he said, the words lost in the writhing of the dragon below him and the tightening of hidden ropes.
The swarm of threshers was drawing closer. Aaron saw there were others approaching from all sides. He searched for another rope to cut. He hacked through one, but it granted no relief to Marsail. Aaron followed it with his eyes, realized that it led right into and through Marsail. Somewhere below the water was the exit wound. Or the harpoon was still inside the dragon. And his blood would continue drawing the hungry sharks.
Aaron looked back to the tunnel’s mouth behind them. It would offer no shelter, and there was no way he could move the dragon any closer. He counted ten ropes stretching out from the tunnel, more than he’d thought originally. Marsail’s breathing was still frantic, still mixed with coughing and spluttering. Aaron was looking for another rope to cut when the first thresher arrived. Marsail roared in fury and pain as it took a bite out of his exposed wing.
Aaron scrambled over the dragon’s side to get to the thresher. He slid down, halfway into the water to stab it with his knife. The tough skin of the thresher turned the blade aside, and it took another bite before peeling off to attack a less defended area of the dragon. Its eye rolled over Aaron as it went, as though laughing at the arrogance of this helpless creature attempting to defend such a magnificent bounty from one of the lords of the harbor. He would feed one way or another.
Marsail roared again as more threshers closed. Aaron looked around. Every side of the dragon was under attack. For a second, Aaron remembered being in the middle of the merciless horde of Jerr hounds, all swarming, him nothing more than a piece of food, prey with slow legs and inadequate weapons. There were hundreds, and more coming.
Aaron wailed at the moon. Then he turned back and looked at Marsail’s single visible eye. It was looking back. He scrambled up towards it, putting some distance between himself and the swarm. He dropped his knife from numb hands and drew his sword, long black blade reflecting none of the cruel moonlight.
“I’m so sorry,” Aaron said, tears falling down his face. The dragon fell silent from his wails of agony, as though he knew what was coming. “I’ll find him, Marsail. I’m sorry.” And with that, Aaron took a long and painful breath, then drove his swor
d into the dragon’s eye, pushing deep with both hands to reach the brain. Marsail’s thrashing ceased.
Aaron crumpled into a ball atop his dead dragon. The threshers continued to feed. Others circled, awaiting their turn.
Chapter 39. Hooks
Gale’s bright eyes reflected the green of the lanterns as he stalked Cal. Each chain he came to, he set into motion. Soon empty hooks, bodies, and lanterns were all swaying around the pair. Gale unerringly shifted around the obstacles, always with his side to Cal, using his profile to show off the darkine running the length of his back. In the shadowy, shifting lights, Cal could see the cold, reptilian strength that had been given the Sunken during their long trial under the Plate.
“I can smell your fear,” Gale said, drifting behind the swinging bodies. “That fear is why I’ll own the Plate, just as my ancestors did. It is my birthright.”
“I don’t think your soldiers are coming back, Gale,” Cal replied, keeping his sword in front of him. “You’re even weaker than when this evening began. Too weak to hold anything of consequence. Why don’t you slither back below?”
“Oh, I intend to. By the time any organized response arrives, I’ll be back below the Plate. Tomorrow night I’ll surface somewhere else using another gate. I’ll set up another court, and more will find their way onto my hooks. Soon the Plate will beg to return to a world in which they thought the Sunken were a myth. They will pay for the Purge. Pay for the mistakes of their ancestors.”
Cal couldn’t help himself from shaking his head, tracking Gale as he vanished behind another body. “I think you’re in for a rude awakening. I think you’ll find the gates have all been shut behind you. You’re stuck up here. I’m here on Locke’s guidance. You’ve been played.”
Gale suddenly appeared before Cal. He held his sword an arm’s length from his body, drawing Cal’s eyes to it. Then he attacked with the hook. Cal batted it away, but Gale had timed his attack to coincide with the swing of one of the bodies near Cal, and Cal was distracted as it crashed into his side. He spun to the left, dumb luck saving him from Gale’s sword. Cal slid behind the body and stepped back over one of the fallen Sunken. A lantern swung closer, exposing empty air where Cal had expected to see Lord Gale stalking him. There was a frantic moment before Cal found his eyes, watching coldly from behind a different corpse.
Gale gave a small laugh. “I have loyal followers below. They’ll hold the gates.”
“My guess is they’re already dead. Along with the rest of your followers up here. And that just leaves you and me.”
“Well, then, Mast of House Mast, I think we’ve done enough talking. If you are to be the last decoration in my court, we might as well get on with it.”
Gale was behind a body, and he pushed it forward, coming in for an attack just after it. This time he led with the sword. Cal deflected the thrust but barely escaped the hook. Gale was too strong. He swung the sword with the strength and ease of one using both hands, and was just as fast with his other weapon. The Sunken Lord swaggered around the obstacles, standing tall and straight. As Cal watched, he gave another grin and retreated to attack from the shadows again.
It was impossible to get a clean strike in with all the moving objects. It was becoming a contest of who could better judge and anticipate the movement of the chains, and Cal was losing. He needed a better approach. He was standing in Gale’s court, playing Gale’s game. He was swallowing the bait offered him. It wouldn’t be long before he found the hook it hid. Cal needed to change his approach, not allow himself to be led as his enemy wanted.
Cal sidestepped a body that went sailing by, waited a beat, then threw himself to the floor. A sword went whooshing over his head. From his low vantage point, Cal could see Gale’s powerful legs just over his shoulder. Cal pivoted, throwing all his strength into a strike parallel to the floor, well below all the swinging chains, and felt it bite hard into Gale’s shin.
The Sunken Lord gave a roar as he fell. Cal was up in an instant, moving towards him. A hooked lantern crashed into Cal with a rattle. Cal pulled the lantern off the hook and threw it at Gale. It broke open, spilling a glowing green liquid across his face. The Sunken clawed at his eyes and shrieked in rage.
Cal took another aggressive step towards Gale, tricking Gale into raising his sword sightlessly in defense. Instead of attacking, Cal slid around him. He grabbed an empty hook and slipped one end into Gale’s ornate darkine, where it caught on the many branches. Cal jumped back as Gale twisted around, swinging his sword, his snarling face covered in luminous green. Cal dodged the attack, then grabbed another hook and slid it around the base of the darkine. Gale attempted to turn as he rose, the tight chains throwing him back towards the ground. A moment later a swinging body crashed into the confusion of chains holding Gale. They all began twisting together. As the chains shortened, they tightened their grip on Gale’s darkine.
Cal stepped back to allow the Sunken to be more deeply trapped by the mess of chains, hooks, and the heavy bodies of the Sunken’s victims. Gale thrashed as his sword and hook were pulled from his hands. His movement slowed, and he shot a look of fury at Cal. He spat a mouthful of the glowing liquid across his face, mingled with blood, onto the floor. “Release me.”
Cal didn’t bother answering. He stepped forward, grabbed the ensnared Lord Grinwell Gale VII by the crest atop his head, and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. Then he brought his sword blade across it. The Sunken’s blood ran out over the floor.
Cal watched the blood pour out for a moment before he dropped the sword and weaved his way out of the spinning mass of chains. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He returned to Gale’s now twitching body with an axe in his hands. After a moment of studying, he took a heavy swing and smashed off part of Gale’s darkine. He kept working, breaking off the source of the Sunken’s pride bit by bit, until Gale dropped to the floor, free of the chains, lifeless.
Gale’s face, still oddly lit by the green liquid of the broken lantern, was down on the wooden floor, a dark puddle of blood growing under it. The shattered remnants of his darkine lay around him. There were a few lonely strands which still spread upwards like the branches on a long dead tree, hinting at the glory it once was. As Cal watched, Gale’s black crown fell from his head and settled into the puddle of blood.
Cal tried to think of something weighty to say. He couldn’t, so he just settled for spitting on the ground near the dead Sunken Lord and then went to look for his boots, stopping the bodies which came swinging near him, giving them what little rest he had to offer.
Chapter 40. Cold Comfort
Miriam had seen Odell fly east and that was the direction she went on Tyrne’s back. She flew fast, though she didn’t know exactly what she was looking for. After a time she realized it was Tyrne setting the direction, not her. The air above the harbor grew cold as they headed towards a series of rock columns on the horizon, following the same path as an endless stream of threshers in the moonlit waters below them. On the far side of one of the formations, she found Aaron.
He was sitting atop the dead body of his dragon, crisscrossed with barbed ropes, threshers working the edges and waiting. She’d never seen him look so broken, eyes rimmed with red staring at the horizon, rubbing his pixie eye. Ignoring the blood on his hands. No sign of Odell.
After she’d maneuvered him onto Tyrne, he gave a final look down at his friend and companion, now food for the hungry harbor.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Take me off the Plate. Just for a night. Get me out of here.”
Miriam nodded and directed Tyrne towards the mountains across the harbor. Aaron didn’t look back, keeping his eyes on the mountains on the horizon. Eventually they set down at a quiet, flat spot along the far shore. The green glow of Surdoore was visible in the distance. The clouds had parted and the moon shone, light reflecting in the calm harbor waters. Tyrne immediately settled down near the pair, curling into a ball and falling asleep.
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“He doesn’t seem too worried about Cal,” Miriam said. “Or Marsail.”
“I’m not worried about Cal either.” He was thinking of Madame Jane’s note. One will win. One will lose. “As to Marsail,” his voice softened, “I think we sometimes forget the dragons aren’t people. Tyrne doesn’t care. Just like Anders’ dragons didn’t care when he died. They just went to the greater power. Show them some marks or kill their master. Make them stronger by being stronger. That’s all it takes.”
“Don’t you think Marsail cared about you?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter. I cared about him.” He stared at the city in the distance for a long time. “I worry sometimes. That Conners wishes I was more like them. Less human. More of a weapon in his hand.”
“You’re more than that, Aaron. Your loyalty is an example to all the Corvale. And I’ve seen how it twists you around as Conners pushes you harder and harder. But it never falters. You’re in the right place. You’re doing the right things. Even if it feels wrong. We need our own weapons. We’ve both seen the weapons wielded by our enemies. The Chalk. The Falsemarked. The Borhele. Now the Sunken.”
There was a silence, broken only by the wind whipping across the nearby grasses and pushing up waves from the harbor shore. Aaron and Miriam stared at the skies, both thinking about a new enemy loose in the world on the back of a dragon.
Miriam said, “I know you wanted us to be more. After Delhonne. In New Wyelin.”
“Was I alone?”
“I don’t know, Aaron. I don’t know. You were becoming someone new. It scared me. I wasn’t interested in changing. I felt like I had more important things to do than make myself happy. I still do. I valued our time together, but I never knew if it was love or desperation driving you.”
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 24
