by Lee Roland
“And the soldiers?”
Erik shook his head. “They go on until the body is destroyed. They feel no pain. They can’t be killed, in a technical sense, only incapacitated.”
When they walked down a different hallway with more glass windows, Erik stepped behind Maeve and wrapped both arms around her body. He squeezed her tight. When she looked, she saw why. Maeve screamed until her throat was raw, and she collapsed against him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Erik held her twisting body while the remaining bit of Tana’s potion came up. He wrestled and dragged her into a small room and eased her to the floor. She curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Worse. The image in her mind grew sharper—she had to face what she’d seen.
The mobile dead in the glass ceiling room were butchering Andovar like a slaughtered calf. Separating and peeling scales away to strip flesh from the massive bones of a sky lord—one of the majestic glories of Elder.
“Andovar taught me the dragon’s song, told me stories…” Maeve sobbed. A magnificent part of her life had broken away. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and Erik knelt beside her.
“Why?” Her raw throat choked on the word.
“The drug. The magic to build the army. The drug is made from the bones of the Iameth—the bones of Elder. This is the first dragon. A dragon’s bones will create millions of soldiers, each as strong as an ogre.”
“You were ready for it. You knew how I’d react? To seeing him being butchered?”
“Hania was willing to die to save a dragon. He only saw it once. You lived with them.”
Maeve struggled to rise. He caught her arm and helped her and when she was on her feet, in a gut reaction, in the need to strike something, she swung at him.
He caught her wrist and pushed her away.
“Fuck Sethos,” she screamed. “Can you control them?”
“Control?”
“The butchers, damn it!”
“You want to go in there?” His eyes widened.
“I have to get Andovar’s lifestone.”
“What’s a… It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you.” He shrugged.
She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t read his aura, he seemed so neutral, so impassive. Take what you can get, Maeve. You know what to do now.
Erik led her to a bathroom, and she splashed cupped handfuls of water in her face. It wasn’t enough so she stuck her head under the faucet. With water dripping from her curls, she followed him along the hallway.
He stopped at a steel door. “When we go in, stay back and be quiet. They’re less aware than the house servants and won’t notice you. But I’m going to break their routine, and I don’t want you in the way. If they’re disturbed, Sethos may feel the disruption. He could come to check on it. Neither of us wants that.”
Maeve steadied herself for the task ahead of her. She would find the lifestone and take it to Yarrow. The room was as cold as the room of frozen soldiers. Thank Inaras, the temperature kept the smell down, but it contained the damp, dank fragrance of bloody death.
She waited off to the side and watched as Erik stopped the butchering and ordered the men and women away. They seemed confused, but they obeyed and began to shuffle out. Bloody rags covered their bodies. A few had no shoes, their bare feet waded in and tracked across pools of ruby red dragon blood on the floor.
Maeve watched them pass, their eyes staring straight ahead, one foot after another, dazed creatures, moving without purpose or reason—until one stopped. He turned and she beheld the dead eyes of Joe Don Parrish. Her sweet trucker had paid for helping her escape.
Erik reached her in time to grab her and slap his hand across her mouth to stop her screams again. When he released her, she clawed at his eyes. He did this. He followed her and did this to someone who helped her. Maeve froze. What about Ryder? He gave her his truck. With a tag number, they would know he was on the road…but Joe Don was on the road, too.
Erik captured her arms and held them at her sides. “Maeve, I didn’t do this. I sent men to question him. About you. That’s all. Just question. He fought, they brought him here. Then I couldn’t do anything.”
“No. Shut up. Liar! I don’t believe you.” Maeve forced herself to remain calm. Hysteria wouldn’t help anyone now. “You killed for him. For Sethos. You have a lot to answer for when payback time arrives, Erik. I’m selling my soul for Elder by not destroying you right now.”
Joe Don continued to stare at her but now with clouded confused eyes. Maeve went to him and placed her palms on his cheeks. So cold.
“He’s dead, Maeve.” The words rumbled with threat. “Don’t make him remember his life.”
“I have to do something,” she whispered. She saw the magic surrounding Joe Don, like the spell covering Ozier in the Council House. Magic in a vial, death in the bones of the Iameth. Sethos be damned. If he came, she’d call on Inaras, Merisin or any other help she could get to destroy him and herself.
As gently as she could, she called her own magic and began to strip the sick shroud away. Erik helped her catch him as he fell. She cradled Joe Don’s head in her arms. For an instant, his eyes cleared. “Maeve,” he whispered. Then he was gone.
She lowered his head and kissed his cold lips. No magic remained upon him. Nothing to tie him to her world. And that, at least, was as it should be. She included her friend on the growing list of those who required justice. She closed her mind and her heart and went back to the task before her.
“How did you do that? You shouldn’t be able to…it’s too strong.” Erik stood back and stared at her. His voice held a touch of awe. And was that fear? It couldn’t be. She ignored him.
Rising, she walked to Andovar’s body. The butchers had made it easier for her—physically. They had removed the massive head and tossed it aside.
“How did Sethos capture demons?” Maeve’s voice echoed in the room. “That’s what happened to the missing ones, right?”
“He captured them.” He pointed at Andovar. “And when we couldn’t find you, this dragon came and tracked you across the country.”
Andovar had broken the Oath of Elder. He had betrayed the Iameth and his blood kindred. The price? Madness, driven by his own great heart.
“Why would a dragon do Sethos’ bidding?”
“I don’t know. I had the feeling they’d known each other, communicated, a long time. What are you doing?”
Maeve walked past a head four times as long as her body. “Every dragon has a lifestone inside. I can’t leave it for the butchers.”
Raymond had shown her his lifestone, but she had no idea of where it might be located in Andovar. She opened herself to witch-sight. Andovar’s scales and bones became transparent, and the lifestone glimmered. There was no other way to do it. She went to the jagged cut where they split his spine and plunged her arm between his ribs. Erik drew a sharp breath.
Maeve groped in the thick muscle tissue. She needn’t have bothered. Andovar’s lifestone came to her hand. Blood seeped from his body, but none touched her. Her arm came out as clean as it went in.
“Who are you?” Erik asked.
She shrugged. “I’m Maeve. I’m an incompetent Elder witch on a deadly mission.” She held the lifestone near her heart. “Again, will you help me leave? Will you come with me?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get you out. I have work to do here.”
Determination filled his voice, and she knew he had plans. But could she deal with those plans?
****
Alex had opened the door to the Commander’s apartment when Sethos came waddling down the hall.
Sethos’ eyes lit up. “What luck,” he said. “I’ve become curious about you, young man. Come, I’ll show you, and after I do, you may go and lick my son’s boots and thank him for saving you. It wouldn’t hurt to make him a few promises that you’ll be a good boy and…well, you know what he enjoys.”
Alex followed him like a condemned criminal on his way to the electric chair. He knew th
e futility of running.
The room where Sethos led him wasn’t large, twenty by twenty. A steel table with straps like the one he and the captain freed the Commander from this morning sat in the middle. This place was cleaner though, and it smelled of antiseptic. Four factory workers in white coats stood behind the table, and Alex got the feeling they’d been standing there all day.
Sethos beckoned to the workers. Alex thought he’d become inured to dead eyes and the musty cellar smell, but when the worker shuffled closer…no. He shoved his hands in his pockets, to stop the tremors.
Whatever Sethos said to the worker, he didn’t say aloud. The man turned without a word and shuffled to a door. The others followed him.
“Now, Hania, let me explain our process. The drug they gave you allowed you to see a new world, did it not?”
Alex nodded.
“But what if—” The sound of a man’s screams interrupted Sethos.
Alex swallowed, his mind desperately searching for a way to escape.
Sethos chuckled. “Oh no, little boy, it’s far too late to flee. You were captured the moment your Commander laid eyes on you.”
The four workers dragged the man into the room. Alex recognized him. They’d signed their contracts at the same time. Joshua Selron, from Georgia.
Joshua screamed, kicked, and twisted in their hands. Twice, he freed an arm or leg, but the four pitiless white coats took it in stride—silent and steady, even when he rammed a finger in one’s eye, rupturing the eyeball.
Alex surgered forward to help Joshua. He had to. Sethos’ pudgy white hand caught his arm and jerked him back. The anemic-looking monster might appear weak, but his fingers pinched Alex’s flesh to the bone. His body froze and strain as he might, he couldn’t free himself from that grip. He couldn’t leave—and he couldn’t help Joshua.
They lifted Joshua’s writhing body onto the table and strapped him down. His will to fight seemed to drift away. He cried and moaned a little, but then lay quiet and limp.
With his inextricable grip, Sethos forced Alex forward to stand at the side of the table. If Joshua recognized Alex, he didn’t show it. When Sethos approached, Joshua fought again. He twisted against the restraints, and his chest heaved as his breath came in ragged gasps. Sethos placed his hand on Joshua’s forehead, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
For the first time in his life, Alex wanted to die. All his hopes, his dreams, he would sacrifice to not be in this room, not to be drowning in the stench of death and abject horror. It was worse, though, when he realized what Sethos was doing. The pale monster was feeding on Joshua’s fear—a psychic vampire sucking Joshua’s terror like sweet blood wine.
Sethos smiled at Alex, his black eyes glittering. “You were in line for this ultimate service, but my son’s infatuation with you saves you…for now.”
A rancid taste crept into Alex’s throat and filled his mouth. Every muscle in his body tightened as he fought not to scream.
One white coat punched an IV needle into Joshua’s right arm.
Joshua didn’t struggle now. His breathing slowed, and his skin had changed from pink to gray. It didn’t take long—or maybe it was hours—time slowed, and the air seemed to solidify around Alex. Then the white-coats were unbuckling the straps and removing the IV. Alex thought it was over until Joshua opened his eyes—dead eyes. Eyes that saw nothing, carried no awareness, not one spark of humanity.
Sethos dragged Alex back, and the white coats lifted Joshua off the table and to his feet. He waited there, staring at nothing until they led him away.
Now, come,” Sethos said in a joyful voice. “You must see the rest.” He released Alex.
Alex might have been dead himself, the way he stumbled after Sethos. They walked to the elevator and when the doors closed, it went down…and down. When the doors opened, Alex walked into a tomb of living-dead, a corridor lined with bodies in clear plastic boxes. Frozen soldiers dressed in combat gear, all standing straight, waiting. They walked on, following the white coats and Joshua—who now walked with the same shuffle as his captors. A perverse thread of curiosity rose in Alex.
“How many?” He choked on the words.
Sethos giggled and clapped his hands together. “Oh, I don’t know. You may ask your Commander if you wish. He has an exact count. We’ve been collecting them for years.” He caressed the plastic cases as he walked by. “My beautiful soldiers, my army of ghouls. Wherever I point them, they will march. When I say kill, they will kill.” He giggled again. “They are strong and they feel no pain—are they not fortunate?”
Alex watched in numb silence as they dressed Joshua and placed him in a plastic box. He laid back and closed his eyes as the white coats sealed it shut.
“Now,” Sethos said, “we pump it full of a special gas, and he will wait until his master, that would be me, calls him to battle.” He patted the case like petting a dog.
Alex followed Sethos back to the elevator. He fought to remain numb.
When the doors opened, Sethos said, “You go now. Perhaps you can entertain me one evening. There’s no point in my wife, son, and the honorable Captain Harlan having all the fun.”
Alex stepped into the elevator. When he turned around, the doors closed on Sethos’s hateful face—a madman’s face—or the face of a creature who was not a man at all.
Alex held all emotion tight inside until he stepped out from the elevator on the first floor. Then he dropped to his knees, put his hands over his eyes, and cried. He cried for himself, for Joshua, and for humankind at the mercy of magic they didn’t know existed, wouldn’t know existed, until the slaughter began.
He had killed, taken a life to save Erik, someone who knew all about the obscenity of this place. Now he was a part of an unbelievable horror. He wanted to be a part of Elder, wanted to stay, but could he sell his soul for desire?
Captain Harlan and Claire found him there, tears drying on his face. They caught his arms and dragged him away from the elevators and into a room. They sat him in a chair, and when he finally stopped sobbing, he found both of them staring at him. He told them what he’d seen. They didn’t interrupt, so he assumed they knew it all.
“What do you want, Alex?” The captain’s voice was smooth with sympathy but not pity.
Alex knew what he wanted. “Sethos—dead, destroyed.”
“And Erik?” Claire asked. “Do you want him dead, too?”
He wouldn’t lie to the captain—or to himself. “No.”
Harlan came and knelt by Alex’s chair. “Can you say no to him? To Erik. Can you refuse to commit evil acts?”
Alex swallowed. “I don’t know. I have…before.”
He clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Then you can do it again. You’ve faced an utter evil today, and you’ll stand against it again when the time comes. I know you will. Now, I want you to leave this factory and go to the barracks. There’s nothing you can do here that will help one way or the other. Not for me or for Erik. Will you do that?”
Alex nodded. “Yes.”
Yes, going away from this place was best for now. He had no idea where Erik was anyway. He could breathe clean air, clear his mind…he had to escape.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Erik let Maeve out near the loading docks. He checked first to be sure no one watched. A patch of woods encroached on the meadow less than fifty feet from the door.
“Hurry,” he said.
“Come with me.” She laid one hand on his chest. His complicity in the deaths of her people tormented her, but he could provide information that might help her convince the witches and dragons to destroy Sethos.
“No. I’ll wait. I may get my chance to kill him.” He looked into her eyes.
Maeve found no hope there. She hurried away.
Andovar’s lifestone gained weight when she passed under the trees. Within a hundred feet, she could barely carry it. Still, she plowed on through the woods. She could not toss away a burden freely accepted.
She stumbled
on a root and fell, clutching the lifestone to her chest. Hands caught her. Yarrow lifted her and helped her out of the woods to the meadow.
“Come,” he said. “I’ve been waiting. I will carry both of you.”
He changed and lifted his wing so Maeve could mount.
She couldn’t. The stone was too heavy.
Yarrow changed, turned his back to her, and then changed to dragon form under her. Buffeted by magic, she held the lifestone with both hands. Cradled on his neck near his shoulders, he could keep her in place, but now Andovar seemed to weigh upon him too.
Maeve felt him laboring under her as his wings whipped down to launch them into the air. No gliding or soaring for Yarrow now, only the constant beat of wings and deep, painstaking breaths. He flew toward Dragon’s Lair, but he had to clear the mountains first.
The mountains around Elder valley weren’t high. Like the Appalachians outside the gate, the peaks grew green and tree covered. Yarrow’s talons brushed treetops when he crossed over.
She had traveled the route to Dragon’s Lair before, but she marveled at the sight before her. On her right, green and gold plains teeming with large animals stretched for a thousand miles. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner for dragons, the numerous herds fed on lush grasses and wild grain.
The Fire Mountains’ jagged peaks lay ahead, and there were no gentle green slopes there. Again, Yarrow climbed. He passed over the knife-edge, close enough for Maeve to see the rock’s veins and small cracks spread like a map below.
Dragon’s Lair spread before her. A valley punctured with hot springs, geysers, and boiling mud pots. A clear, cold wind blew down from the peaks, allowing an unobstructed view. At times, steam and gasses hung heavy as a deep ocean fog, leaving only a carpet of drifting white and gray. Now and then, the smell of sulfur would rise and gag her. It alternated with the sweet, sick scent of an overabundance of gardenias.
