In the reflection of the lake, Catrin saw dragons diving at them, and she looked up to see dozens ready to strike. Kyrien seemed to sense them, and just before the strikes came, he took sudden evasive action. Catrin thought she would be sick. His sudden moves unsettled her equilibrium. A loud crack sounded as another dragon struck the water, this one cartwheeling across the surface of the lake then landing flat and motionless in the shallows.
Dark columns of smoke choked the air, and Catrin cried out when she saw her old family farm burning to the ground. Everywhere was the same: smoke, fire, and nothing alive but demons. Kyrien suddenly climbed as the sound of ballistae firing rang out. Catrin tried to figure out how the demons could have so quickly replicated the weapons used against them, but as they moved toward Harborton, it became clear that the demons and dragons were not working alone. Greasy, black ships clogged the harbor, and men in equally dark armor laid siege to the Masterhouse. All of Harborton burned. This was not as much an invasion as it was extermination.
The taste of bile filled Catrin's mouth as Kyrien turned sharply again but not fast enough. A massive ballista bolt struck Catrin's saddle and smacked into her side before she knocked it away. The air pressure around her changed, and Catrin turned to see the jaws of a feral dragon about to close around her. She could feel the heat of its breath as it soared ever closer. Once again the sound of a ballista firing filled the air. Kyrien turned, dived, and pulled up sharply, using his head and neck to drive the other dragon into the path of the approaching bolt. It struck with a wet thunk, and Kyrien peeled away before the other could entangle him in its death fall.
Seeing the armada that choked the harbor, including ships armed with ballistae and other weapons Catrin didn't recognize, she urged Kyrien to go back north toward Dragonhold. It had all happened so fast that Catrin could hardly believe it. Even the return north was faster than she would have imagined as Kyrien used every trick he knew to gain speed. Always behind them came darkness on wings. Not far from Dragonhold, Kyrien climbed and gave Catrin a view of the Pinook and Chinawpa Valleys, her home contained within the range of mountains that divided the two. She almost cried when she saw Lowerton being utterly destroyed. The demons climbed the stair while their giants held a barrier of lashed tree trunks over their heads, protecting them.
In the Chinawpa Valley, hordes of demons built an assault ramp leading toward the back entrance of Dragonhold. Catrin let out a cheer when she saw those within the hold fighting back. With a tremendous noise, the mighty, wooden stair and framework pulled free from the mountainside, using the failsafe mechanism Martik had designed. It was terrifying to see something that had seemed so permanent suddenly come tumbling down, taking the demons and giants with it. Elation turned to horror when Kyrien climbed toward an unnatural-looking cloud that hung over Dragonhold. Below, gaping holes in the landscape looked as if a god had been trying to tear the mountain apart. Enormous holes plunged to unknowable depths where Catrin was certain there had been solid rock only a short while ago.
Light glinted from newly exposed fields of massive crystals that jutted up through rifts in the rock and soil. She caught only a brief glimpse before a huge shape burst from the dust cloud and slammed into them. Another dragon struck them from behind, and again Catrin experienced the terrifying feeling of falling.
Kyrien managed to break himself free of Death's grasp, and Catrin was whipped side to side then pressed deep into the creaking saddle as they climbed. Kyrien's flight wobbled and Catrin could see gashes on his neck and upper breast. From her vantage point, she could not see his belly or hindquarters, but she suspected he had injuries there as well. Gaining altitude, Kyrien dived in and out of the clouds, more than a dozen ferals giving chase. Their serpentine movements belied flight, and they appeared to be swimming in the air rather than flying through it.
It became very apparent that ferals were not mindless creatures and that they were not acting independently. Something was orchestrating their movements, and Catrin shivered at the thought. Not since Archmaster Belegra had she faced the power of slavery and coercion, and that was what the dragons' actions seemed like: the result of coercion. She could feel their anger and hatred; it did not seem directed at her and Kyrien, but that did little to keep them from taking it out on them.
Dark shapes moved within the clouds, never really giving Catrin a clear view until an entire formation of ferals suddenly dropped through the clouds at the same time, creating what was effectively a giant net that forced Kyrien down and into the open once again. Tucking his wings, he dived, and Catrin watched the mountains disappear behind them. The Arghast Desert lay ahead. There, she knew, would be massive thermals rising from the desert sands, and Kyrien could use those to gain altitude once again, but he continued to dive.
Soon Catrin saw what he was aiming for; near the head of the Pinook Valley, a small fire blazed, and around it stood more than a dozen men in black robes. Hatred rolled from them like rippling waves of heat, and Catrin recoiled. Kyrien extended his wings just a little, causing a rushing sound as he pulled up and reached out for one of the robed figures. Amorphous gouts of darkness leaped from the hands of the assassins, as Catrin knew they were. These monsters were here to kill her and everyone she loved. Using her sword as a focal point, she cast a violent burst of energy into their midst, hoping it would incinerate them all, only a small and lightning-quick feral dived into the narrow space between Catrin and the assassins and took the brunt of the blow. With a sickening crack, the dragon fell, struck stone, and would rise no more. It was but one of many, and malevolent force concussed the sky, like explosions of pure night.
Leaning heavily to one side, Catrin recovered from another thunderous concussion that erupted not far from her head. Kyrien tucked and dipped down to soar low over the sands, stirring a roiling dust cloud in his wake and pulling up only when Catrin saw riders approaching from deep in the desert. A sizable group of Arghast tribesmen approached, and their battle calls lifted Catrin's spirits if only for an instant.
The tribesman launched their spears into the air. Catrin turned in the saddle to see a few spears hit their marks, but the ferals shrugged them off as if they were little more than bug bites. It was then that the dragons turned their anger on the Arghast. Catrin cried out for them to retreat, but Kyrien left her no time to see what happened next. Pumping his powerful wings and riding on the overheated air, he thrust them back into the clouds.
Whether by luck or by Kyrien's design-Catrin wasn't certain-for a brief time, they dipped beneath the clouds. Below them, amid towering peaks, lay a lush, green oasis, the air above it alive with birds. When Catrin had struck the well, this was what she had hoped would happen, but actually seeing it exceeded her expectations. It was beautiful. That vision sustained her during what seemed an endless flight. Despite her urgings, Kyrien would not respond to her. His flight was direct, his path unerring, yet she had no idea where they were going or how long the journey would take. Her heart yearned for her husband and son, but they were lost to her. The pain was almost more than she could bear.
Catrin let the straps hold her in place as her mind wandered aimlessly without direction or reason. She was exhausted and allowed herself to doze off in the saddle. Some time later, Catrin woke, soaked and freezing. The gray mist that surrounded them was an ever-changing landscape. Where the air became thicker, Kyrien would suddenly rise higher, and where it thinned, he would drop. It was an uneasy feeling. Catrin had done what she could to shore up the weakness. When the air tossed Kyrien in a certain way, she was sure she would be torn from his back, but the straps held firm despite the two that had been cut. It was during those times that she came back to herself, drifting out of the half sleep long enough to try to communicate with Kyrien. His continued silence worried Catrin as much as anything else, though she had worry aplenty.
The fate of those within Dragonhold weighed heavily on her mind along with the fate of the Arghast and even that of those south of Edling's wall. Despite their d
isagreements, she wished them no ill, especially not the likes of which was now taking place. There was little doubt that Master Edling wanted Catrin dead, but she did not reciprocate. While she wanted to see him fall from power and be forced to live like those he oppressed, she did not wish him dead.
The sight of the assassins had raised her fury like nothing else. Those people had tried to kill Sinjin twice already, and they had nearly killed Durin in the process. Someone was behind this evil, and Catrin burned to know who and why. For most of her life, she'd been misunderstood, thought to be a mighty hero or the basest devil, but she was neither of those things. She was just a wife and mother who happened to have access to Istra's power. Certainly she had abilities that no other could claim, but those powers did not make her invincible, nor did they make her wise; they simply gave her the ability to do things that could not be undone, and with that came tremendous responsibility. Most of the time, it seemed the wisest thing to do with her power was nothing. For years she had concentrated on preparing Dragonhold, and she had failed; those within were doomed. She tried not to think about it. It was simply too painful to imagine.
Now when the greatest need she'd ever known had arisen, she was mostly powerless against the forces that sought to wipe her people out. Even the attacks she could launch lacked real power and accuracy. The darkness the assassins controlled was devastating, and Catrin knew she would need to learn a great deal in a hurry. The problem was that she had tried before and had made absolutely no progress. Her dragon ore carving had given her access to more power, but Koe was back within Dragonhold. The Staff of Life rested in the Grove of the Elders, possibly already in the hands of the demons. She'd been such a fool.
Cupping her hands, she collected moisture from the surrounding air until she had enough to quench her thirst. It amazed her that she could be so wet and still be so thirsty. It didn't quite make sense, but her mind was addled. Bright sunlight assaulted her eyes as the clouds suddenly dissipated. Desperately Catrin searched the skies around her for ferals, but she saw nothing but clear skies and occasional fluffy white clouds. The comets, though hidden, flooded the air with energy, and Catrin reveled in being beneath the open sky. She didn't know how long she and Kyrien had been flying, but she had the hunger of days without food, and she thought she might pass out.
On the horizon rose a smudge of darkness. Catrin quailed at first, but then she recognized the shape of a volcano protruding from the sea. Clouds gathered around its peak, but no smoke or lava could be seen. Kyrien glided closer and, as if reading Catrin's mind, landed on the black beaches south of the volcano, where a string of tiny islands waited. From the air, Catrin had seen whales and other large marine creatures. There should be plenty of food to be found, she thought, though by the size of some of the shadowy forms in the water, she would need to be careful not to end up food for something else.
Desperation and grief made the sunny day seem disrespectful. The sudden shock of icy cold water brought her fully alert, and she panicked, afraid she would drown while still attached to Kyrien by harness and saddle. Kyrien, though he did not communicate with her, obviously knew this and moved to the black sands. After unbuckling straps that were now cinched tightly took longer than Catrin would have thought, but she eventually wriggled free.
Light surf caressed the shoreline with more of a murmur than the roar Catrin recalled from the coast of the Godfist. A warm wind blew from the far side of the island, and the smell of brine was heavy in the air, its saltiness somehow refreshing despite its tang. Orange crabs with white bellies skittered along the black sands, holding their one massive claw up high, their pointed legs leaving scroll marks in the sand.
Along the horizon nothing could be seen but occasional whitecaps, and Catrin had no idea where they were. When she looked inland, Catrin saw steam rising from what looked like a giant wound in the landscape. Like claw marks, a series of glowing gashes marred the otherwise seamless black stone. The air above them shimmered, and jets of steam issued forth at regular intervals. Catrin backed away, unable to bear the waves of heat that radiated from the massive claw marks. Memories of an erupting volcano and the nagging feeling the gashes had been created by a giant monster made Catrin look over her shoulder more than once.
She found Kyrien sunning himself in a field of stone that looked almost liquid with its ridges and swirls. Catrin feared it would sink under her boots, but it proved solid. With his wings extended, Kyrien's many wounds were exposed. Seeing his flesh rent repeatedly and places where scales were missing brought tears to Catrin's eyes. Many new gashes ran alongside old scars, and some crisscrossed, making his hide look like old leather with only patches of scales.
Ignoring her own needs, Catrin laid her hands on Kyrien, hoping to ease his pain. The energy here felt pure and uncluttered, and Catrin drew deeply. Her vision swam, her legs trembled, and her knees buckled. She would have struck the stone hard had it not been for Kyrien, whose muzzle supported her. Many would have been terrified to be so close to his daggerlike, curved teeth, but Catrin knew he would never hurt her. He had once carried her in those jaws and had been as gentle as if she were his child. She had no fear of him, despite his looking like a giant snake made of moss-covered stone. His membranous wings and stout legs capped with claws that looked like they had been carved of solid marble added to his formidable appearance. His green-flecked gold eyes seemed incapable of conveying warmth, yet she could feel how much he cared for her.
Eat.
Kyrien's communication was clearly a command, and for some reason, it infuriated Catrin. "You haven't spoken to me in hours, and now all you can say is eat? What is it? What are you hiding? What don't you want me to know?" Her voice carried with it all her frustration, anger, and worry, and she instantly regretted her tone.
They can hear us.
That thought drove all suspicion from Catrin's mind and left guilt in its place. Of course there had been a reason. Someday she would learn to trust those around her, she reminded herself. It was not an easy thing to do when there were those who really were trying to kill her, her family, and her countrymen. Kyrien, though, was above such suspicion, and Catrin vowed to trust him from now on, no matter how strange his actions might be.
To speak to you I must speak loudly. They are coming. Eat.
"Will we go back?" Catrin persisted. "Will we save the people of the Godfist? Can we save them?"
Though Catrin sensed impatience from Kyrien, he raised his eyes to meet hers, and visions flowed across her consciousness, making it feel as if she were being drowned in a river of thought. What she saw made her want to weep. Such darkness and loss was overwhelming. Catrin knew now that much more than the fate of the Godfist was at stake. Even if she didn't know how the future would unfold, those terrifying glimpses were enough.
Eat. Rest. Prepare.
His words and emotion drove her back to the beach. There were no trees or vegetation to speak of, and Catrin knew that creating a fire would be impossible. She considered using Istra's energy to cook, but the thought nearly made her retch. Doing so would require more energy than the food would provide, and Catrin was weak enough. Along a rough section of the shoreline, she found a piece of black rock that had broken away from the rest of the flow. A deep ridge ran down the center of the slab, and it held a bit of water.
After chasing a few of the crabs, Catrin decided they were not worth the effort since she had worn herself out and not caught a single one. Instead she concentrated on the shellfish that clung to the rocks in pools. These at least could not run from her, though dislodging them was not always easy, she soon had enough for a decent meal.
Piling the dark-shelled muscles onto the indented slab, she carried them to the glowing gashes. After placing them near the edge of the gaping orifice, she backed away from the heat and waited for the shells to open. When they did, she rushed in and tried to pull the slab away, but it had become too hot for her to touch, even with her leather gloves on. Instead she used one of her knives
to slide the muscles from the steaming slab.
Not waiting for them to cool, Catrin pulled the fleshy meal from within the delicate shells and was surprised by how good the muscles tasted. Soon all that remained was a pile of discarded shells. Part of Catrin wanted to go get more, but her eyes became heavy, and before she could form another thought, she slept.
Chapter 11
Adversity is often accompanied by opportunity.
— Medlin Reese, healer
Sinjin kicked at the still dirty floors in the hall known as the "false hall" since it went nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose. A few paces away, Brother Vaughn explained the mystery of the hall to Trinda, who seemed intrigued. Sinjin had heard it all before and knew that the mystery had very little to do with why they were there. Brother Vaughn had become convinced that forming a bond of friendship between Sinjin and Trinda was the way to mend the animosity between their families. At least he had not proposed they marry, Sinjin thought-at least not yet. He knew how these things worked, and he had no desire to find himself bound to the least pleasant person he'd ever met.
It wasn't that Trinda was mean or spiteful; that would have been easier to deal with since Sinjin could at least strike back. Instead she was almost always sad, her deep-set eyes seeming to hold the pain of ages, and any enthusiasm in the face of such anguish seemed trite at best. Though he had tried on several occasions to hold a conversation with Trinda, the most he ever received in return was a single-word response and most times just a nod.
"Look here," Brother Vaughn insisted. "Look at this corner, and tell me what you see."
Sinjin continued to drag the toe of his boot in the dust, knowing what it was Brother Vaughn wanted her to see. At times he wondered about the aging monk's sanity, for the strangest things would hold his attention.
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