The Dragon's Eye

by Sarwat Chadda

  Chief Ugo walked to the rhino. The animal’s tiny ears twitched as he patted its forehead. He whispered something and the rhino struck the floor hard, cracking it. Then it disappeared with a second flash. Ugo brushed his hand over the image of the beast, now transplanted onto his forearm. He swept around to face Song. “I came to speak on behalf of the Greencloaks—to argue for clemency. I know Olvan to be a good man, and I don’t believe he was involved in the assassination of your father. The High Chieftain allowed me to come to you and plead my case.” The man narrowed his eyes. “That was what I came to do, until I discovered you were holding Greencloaks here—including the young Heroes of Erdas! Why haven’t you mentioned this to the other nations? The Heroes should be with their own in Greenhaven.”

  “The Greencloaks murdered my father.” Song’s face turned red with anger. “How dare you—”

  “They are entitled to a fair and open trial before all the nations. I’ll be returning to my home tomorrow to tell the High Chieftain of what I’ve learned here. I will expect word that the Greencloaks have been released to Greenhaven by the time I arrive.”

  “Or what?” snapped Song.

  Chief Ugo didn’t answer. With one last, contemptuous glance at the Oathbound he swept around and left, his companions following. Two Oathbound guards closed the doors behind them.

  Song hurled her crown at the door, where it shattered into several shimmering, delicate pieces. “How dare he? Doesn’t he know who I am?”

  All around the room, the Oathbound looked nervous. They refused to meet her gaze. This only made Song angrier. They all owed her everything!

  She turned her attention to Kana, motioning her toward the throne. Song could count on Kana, at least. The young woman strode forward. Her chameleon must have been in its passive form, because the leader of the Oathbound was fully visible.

  “Please, my friend,” Song whispered as she arrived. “Deal with this troublesome chieftain.”

  “How, Empress?”

  Song paused. “You know how,” she said finally. “Make my problem disappear. Make it look like Greencloaks if you have to.”

  Kana glanced around the court, then leaned forward, right up to Song. “That would be unwise, Song. Few Greencloaks remain at large. People may grow suspicious … and they might turn their gaze to us.”

  Song’s own gaze darkened. “I see. Perhaps you are right.”

  So even Kana defies me.

  “Then I will deal with Chief Ugo myself,” said Song. “Once I have the Dragon’s Eye.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Song didn’t answer her. Instead she strode across the long chamber to pick up the pieces of her crown. The thing was well beyond repair. “The Dragon’s Eye gives command over the sea,” she called back across the room. “It would be a shame if the chief’s ship sank on its journey home, wouldn’t it?”

  Cordelia laughed. “I don’t think rhinos swim very well.”

  Standing at the throne, Kana didn’t look so happy. “Be careful, Song. Nilo is powerful. You need to be more cautious about which enemies you make.”

  “Cautious? If I’d been cautious we wouldn’t be here. I’d be in my chambers, playing with dolls, and you’d be on the beach, guarding it from seagulls.” Song took a deep breath, then bounced across the room, back to her throne. She took Kana’s hand. “I’m sorry, my friend. I spoke in haste. Your prudence is right, of course. Just as it’s always been. Arrange for more food and drink for our Niloan guests. Make them comfortable.”

  “And what about Chief Ugo’s request?”

  Song tossed the pieces of crown aside. “It’s a long journey back to Nilo,” she said. “Much can happen in that time.”

  “THIS IS EVEN WORSE THAN THE SHIP,” SAID ABEKE. “I didn’t think that was possible.” She squatted by the small grille at the back of the cell, watching the sun set over the sea.

  They’d been down here all day.

  Conor sighed. “Some heroes we turned out to be.”

  Abeke continued to gaze out west. Seagulls circled over the surf, but she was searching for a falcon. When would Essix return? And what aid would she bring?

  Far across that expanse was Greenhaven. Abeke feared what Song was planning for it, if she got her hands on the Dragon’s Eye. Meilin had told them about the ancient hero and his bonded water dragon—the stories of what they’d been capable of. If Song achieved only half the feats mentioned in the legends, then they were in deep trouble.

  A small boat drifted along the bottom of the cliffs. Abeke could just make out a single rower—a fisherman, she supposed—struggling to keep his boat off the rocks. He was fighting hard and was clearly no sailor. She winced as one wave almost tilted the vessel over. Seagulls swooped over him, hoping to steal some of his catch.

  What was he doing this late in the evening? He didn’t have a lantern. He was too clumsy to be a smuggler. Abeke shook her head as he disappeared into the dark shadows of the cliffs.

  She hoped he was a good swimmer.

  “Someone’s coming,” warned Rollan.

  Armored footsteps stopped at the iron-bound cell door. Keys rattled and the hinges groaned.

  Brunhild glowered at them. She gestured with her sword. “Out. All of you.”

  Abeke narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  The woman pressed her lips together.

  Conor shrugged and went to the door. “She did ask nicely, Abeke.”

  More Oathbound soldiers waited outside the cell. Abeke and the others were pushed along, and down. And down … and down. The narrow, spiraling stairs seemed to go on forever. The deeper they got, the more Abeke was overwhelmed by the smell of fetid, damp air. Sickly green moss matted the dripping walls.

  Eventually the stairs ended, and they passed through a roughly hewn tunnel and entered a large, irregular cave.

  Song stood nearby, with more Oathbound beside her. To her right, Wikam the Just sneered as the Greencloaks entered. He was holding some kind of small box, covered in thick burlap. His vulture spirit animal was perched heavily on his shoulder, though the Oathbound didn’t seem to even notice the weight.

  “You took your time,” Song said.

  “We were busy,” answered Rollan. “These games of ‘I Spy’ can get pretty intense.”

  How deep were they? Abeke wondered. Water dripped from above and pooled on the uneven floor.

  The cavern appeared to be naturally formed. Abeke could just about hear the sound of the surf somewhere on the other side of the rock. Seawater seeped through the cracks, and large puddles lay over the uneven stone. Apart from the stairs there was one other exit, a large, circular door almost twenty feet in diameter.

  She’d never seen a door like it. Hundreds of animals covered it, all inlaid in precious metals and mother-of-pearl. Their eyes were gemstones, and their teeth and claws ivory.

  It looked as if the entire wildlife of Erdas had been trapped upon the door. Tigers, elephants, swallows, and sharks—and every creature that flew, swam, crawled, or walked. They overlapped, merging together and then breaking apart. The wavering lantern light added to the sense of movement, as if the menagerie would burst to life any moment.

  “What do you want?” asked Abeke suspiciously.

  Song walked up to the door. “What do you think? The Dragon’s Eye.”

  “You sent Kofe and the others to get it.”

  Song hesitated. A worried look flashed across her face. “They’re not back.”

  Rollan laughed. “Maybe they found it and escaped. They could be a hundred miles from here by now.”

  Abeke doubted that was true, despite her fervent hopes. She looked back at the ornate door. It radiated danger.

  A few of the soldiers carried in extra weapons and deposited them in a pile. Abeke glanced at Meilin, who seemed to understand where this was going.

  Abeke folded her arms. “We’re not going to get it for you.”

  Song met her gaze. “Shouldn’t you discuss it with your friends first?”
/>   “I don’t need to.”

  “I could offer you anything you want.”

  “What we want is for you to go to prison for your crimes. For a long, long time.”

  “Or forever,” added Conor. “Forever also works.”

  Song scowled. “What about your freedom? You get me the Eye, and I’ll put you on a ship home. I promise.”

  “How can we trust the word of someone who kills her own family?” asked Abeke. “And where would we be safe, knowing what we know?”

  “You’re making things difficult, Abeke.”

  “Good.”

  Song shook her head. “I suspected as much. But this might motivate you. A little present from Wikam’s vulture.”

  “No!” Rollan gasped from behind Abeke as Wikam pulled back on the burlap covering to reveal an iron cage.

  Essix shrieked from within. The cage was so small that she couldn’t open her wings. The gyrfalcon knocked at the bars in fury.

  Rollan jumped forward, pulling down on his collar. “Essix, go into passive sta—!” Before he could finish, Brunhild knocked him to the ground with a hard slap.

  Song nodded to Wikam, who scurried quickly out of the cavern.

  Rollan pushed himself back up, his eyes burning with hatred. “Let Essix go!” he yelled.

  A cruel smile twitched on Song’s lips. “Oh, I will. If you do as I say.”

  Abeke glared at her. “How do we know you’ll keep your word?”

  “You don’t. But if you refuse me, I’ll have Essix’s cage weighted down and thrown from the cliff top into the sea. I’ll even let you watch. If she isn’t smashed into a pile of bloody feathers upon the rocks, then … well, let’s hope she can hold her breath for a long, long time.” The empress’s pretty gaze flashed to Conor. “Or forever.”

  Rollan groaned in despair.

  What could they do? Abeke looked at Rollan, at his pure misery. Her heart broke to see his pain. She would feel the same if they had Uraza in a cage.

  Abeke turned to her friends.

  They knew each other so well by now; there was no need to speak. Each would sacrifice their life for the other.

  If Essix died, they might as well rip out Rollan’s heart. Abeke couldn’t let that happen.

  She glanced back to the cavern door, where she saw the air begin to shimmer. Kana, Abeke realized, just as the Oathbound leader bled into view. Kana watched the team impassively, leaning beside the enormous door. Toey, her chameleon, crawled slowly across her shoulder.

  “You won’t get away with this,” said Abeke.

  Abeke had been looking at Kana when she spoke, but it was Song who answered. The empress looked surprised. “Oh? I think I just have. Gather your weapons.”

  Rollan stared at the empress. “If anything happens to Essix, I’ll make you—”

  “Please, no more melodrama,” interrupted Song. “Just get on with it.”

  It took four soldiers to pull open the door. Immediately Abeke was struck by a hot, scorching wind.

  Kana held up a tall candle, carved with even lines to mark the time. “You have an hour. I wouldn’t try to escape. If you’re not back with the Dragon’s Eye, Essix goes for a swim.” She winked. “Good luck.”

  Rollan gritted his teeth, trapping his rage.

  Abeke gathered a bow and a quiver of arrows. She walked through the door. Her three friends, now also armed, followed just behind.

  The tunnel ahead was dark.

  “Remember—one hour,” warned Song.

  Then the door was pushed closed behind them.

  CONOR TOOK A FEW MOMENTS TO GET USED TO THE darkness. The tunnel glowed faintly, with a greenish hue. He inspected the walls and picked off a handful of moss. It radiated a weak light, much like the glow of the sea at night.

  “It’s like being in Sadre again,” Conor murmured. “How fun,” he added with a sigh.

  The others were all crowded around him. Abeke carried a bow, Meilin a sword, and Rollan had a spear. Conor had taken a staff. It wasn’t a warrior’s weapon like his usual ax, but the weight reminded him of a shepherd’s crook. Conor felt reassured just gripping the smooth wood.

  “Only one way we can go,” he said. “Forward.”

  The hairs on his nape prickled.

  He could see a stronger light ahead of them, and with it rose a strange, putrid smell.

  “Come on, Briggan. I need some help.”

  Conor ran his fingers over the mark on his forearm and his skin stung with brief heat as Briggan emerged.

  The wolf shook himself vigorously, spittle flying from his black lips. He yawned, then padded up next to Conor.

  Abeke joined him. “Shall I call Uraza?”

  “Maybe later. I need Briggan to sniff around a bit.”

  Briggan wrinkled his snout and growled.

  “I know it smells bad,” Conor said, “but is it dangerous?”

  “You can get poisonous gases down in mines,” suggested Meilin. “You’re worried it’s something similar?”

  “That’s what I want to find out,” said Conor. “Kofe and the others came this way, and it didn’t seem like much could take them down.”

  “Maybe Rollan was right,” Meilin said hopefully. “Maybe they found another way out and escaped.”

  Conor looked over at her. “Is that what you think?”

  “No,” she replied in a small voice.

  They marched on for a hundred yards or so. It wasn’t easy to judge distance in the dark. The tunnel was naturally eroded, so it was crooked and fractured in places, leaving deep cracks within the walls and broken rocks underfoot. Stalactites large and small hung down from the curved roof. Small rivulets of seawater dribbled between the cracks. The putrid smell grew stronger as the tunnel opened up.

  And there was something else, the smell of burning.

  Was it mine gas? Back in Eura, miners took canaries down with them when they descended below the earth. The little birds would be the first to perish if poisonous gas leaked into the mines. Many deadly gases were undetectable to humans, but if the canary died, then the miners knew to evacuate to safety.

  As a boy, Conor had always felt sad for the little birds. Without them, however, the humans had no way of surviving. But Briggan’s nose was more sensitive than any human’s—and so was Conor’s when he had his wolf with him.

  The air stung his nostrils and made his eyes water, but otherwise it didn’t seem to hurt him.

  They reached the mouth of a chamber. This space, too, had formed naturally, but craftsmen had worked it into something roughly cubic. On the far end, forty or so feet away, was an opening leading farther in.

  Above the entrance to the chamber was a steel plaque, bearing a symbol of a flame.

  “Strange,” said Meilin.

  Conor sniffed. The putrid smell swamped the air.

  Briggan barked, and then the breath left Conor’s lungs in a rush.

  There was a body lying within the cavern.

  Rollan gasped. “It’s Salaman.”

  The Greencloak’s body was burned. His cloak, or what was left of it, was black with soot. A strong smell of smoke lingered within the chamber.

  “We’ve got to get him,” said Rollan. He took a step forward.

  “Wait,” said Conor. “Did you see the marks on him? He’s been badly scorched.”

  There were no fires that Conor could make out, but the walls themselves were sooty.

  “There’s a trap in here,” he said. “But I can’t see it.”

  What had killed the Greencloak?

  Conor was sure the smell was part of the danger. The odor irritated his nostrils and the back of his throat. Its rottenness reminded him of … what?

  A swamp. It was the same earthy, decaying odor. Swamps trapped things: fallen trees, wayward sheep. There’d been that one time, way back, when he and his father had tracked down a lamb missing from the herd. They’d found it struggling in the mud, and the air had the same smell. His father had waded in to get it, then showed him
a trick with the tinderbox. He’d lit a bit of char cloth with their flint and fire steel, and then …

  “The air catches fire,” said Conor, remembering the burst of gas as his father had thrown the char cloth over the patch. It had popped loudly and created a ball of fire, lasting only a second or two, but enough to singe his eyebrows.

  Conor ran his fingers through Briggan’s thick fur. “I think it would be safer if you rested on my arm.”

  The wolf sniffed the air one more time, then licked Conor’s palm. A second later he was gone, and the mark was back on Conor’s forearm.

  “Look at the floor,” said Meilin.

  Metal tiles covered the floor. Most were rusty and badly arranged, corners jammed in at awkward angles and wedged tightly against each other.

  Rollan snorted. “Whoever fitted those must have been breathing too many cave fumes.”

  Conor wasn’t so sure. “Get behind me.”

  He took a step back, then, using his staff, pressed down on the nearest tile.

  It depressed, the edges scraping together.

  He drew the staff back. “The tiles are on springs. You step on them and they’ll move.”

  “So?” asked Abeke.

  Conor rubbed the edges of his hands together. “Steel on steel, Abeke. It makes sparks.”

  Meilin gasped. “Igniting the gas.”

  “We could climb around the edge,” suggested Rollan, squinting at the room’s borders.

  “See those soot marks?” Conor had wondered the same thing. “That’s what previous people have tried. If you slip, you hit the tiles hard, guaranteeing a spark.”

  Meilin put her hands on her hips. “Rope would be useful.”

  Conor had to agree. But they didn’t have any.

  The cavern was too wide to jump. The walls were too treacherous to climb. Conor reckoned there were about fifty paces across, fifty tiles. Running wouldn’t work—the impact would strike sparks—and even moving slowly was dangerous. The rusty edges of the old tiles might light up with even a small amount of weight.

  “Where does the gas come from?” asked Abeke, getting down on her knees to look under the misaligned tiles. “I think I can see vents in the rock.”