Thoroughly defeated, Jenneth nodded.
"Then they would not place anything truly priceless here, knowing it would be destroyed."
Appearing unconvinced and worried, Jenneth wrung his hands and paced. Nat could not waste time. More guards would be stationed within the hold, though fewer than usual given Jharmin's current absence. Ramming the pointed key through a wolf pup, plaster and other bits falling away, Nat found what he was looking for. Jenneth went pale. Using the key to clear away the decorative covering, Nat revealed a small orifice, just large enough to admit the key. He had to move the handle to different angles to get more intricate parts of the design within. With a final twist, the key caught on something. Pushing Jenneth back toward Lord Kyte's chambers, Nat gave a good yank. At first the painting cracked and chipped, the cave-in not as instantaneous as one might expect. Already Nat was aware no shower of rock would follow, but Jenneth knew no such thing.
With a few more yanks, a much larger opening appeared. Starting just above where the ceiling had been, a series of indentations were carved into the stone: a ladder leading into darkness. Pulling a herald globe from his robes, Nat once again brought shock and marvel to Jenneth's eyes. Everyone knew what herald globes were and what they looked like, but few had ever actually held one.
"Don't drop it," Nat cautioned. "Now up you go." Bending his knees and knitting his fingers, Nat prepared to give the young man a boost. It was a good thing Jenneth had not done anything stupid, or it would have been a difficult climb.
Accepting the herald globe with fear and awe, Jenneth pulled a cloth from his uniform and wrapped the globe as if it were the most fragile object in the world before putting it in an inside pocket. He checked three times before he was satisfied the globe was secure, and he put a hand on Nat's shoulder. For the first time, the young man's fear was gone, excitement and the thrill of discovery in its place.
With a grunt, Nat lifted with all his strength.
"A little higher," Jenneth said.
"Stretch," Nat said through clenched teeth. Far too old for feats of strength, a cry escaped his lips as Jenneth did as he was told, which put more pressure on Nat's aging joints. Soon it was over and Nat struggled to stand straight. He was not weak, but no longer was he young and spry.
"By the gods! You spoke truly. Look at it all!"
"You will bring me three specific items that belong to . . . my companion. The rest you may keep or turn over to Lord Kyte. I make no judgments or suggestions. Get me the items I require, and I will be gone."
* * *
Dragons.
All Sevellon the thief wanted was freedom from dragons, yet no matter what he did, they found him. Whether painted on signs or engraved in furniture, they were inescapable. No matter how far he fled, they chased him down and pinned him beneath hungry gazes. His dreams were thick with them, but a single serpent dominated them all. This dragon was different. It wanted something and would not leave him alone.
Asking Jharmin Kyte to take him back to the Godfist had been among the most difficult things Sevellon had ever done, and it was, in almost every way, against his will. The only part of him that agreed with going back was the part that wanted to remain sane. Every day the dreams had worsened, the urge to throw himself into black water almost too much to resist. Compulsion to get back to the Godfist had overwhelmed all else, including self-preservation. He'd begun to fear sleep. Some people walked while dreaming, and he was afraid he'd wake up cold, wet, and drowning. Leaving Jharmin Kyte's ship, the Wolf's Head, was in many ways sweet parting; in other ways it was terrifying.
Back in Harborton, he was no more welcome than he'd been the last time. Somehow he'd have to get into the Masterhouse, but he had no information, no plans for the construction, no maps, nothing. All he could do was watch the entrances and make notes. Matters of defense often followed schedules and patterns. These fostered vigilance but were also tools the thief could exploit.
Pictures in his mind surfaced, but he forced them back down. If the dragons needed his expertise, then they could very well stop tinkering with his thoughts. Feeling a strong sense of aloneness afterward, he wanted very badly not to admit he missed the presence once it was gone. No matter how much he valued his freedom, having pertinent information pop into your consciousness provided reassurance. In matters of life and death, Sevellon tried not to be picky.
What the dragons wanted with an ugly stone, Sevellon did not know. He'd heard of the sky stone and how the gods had sent it so the Zjhon might defeat the Herald, but it hadn't actually worked out that way. He tried not to put much stock in the words of prophets and minstrels, especially since people still clung to legends already proven false.
Moving from shadow to shadow, Sevellon searched for a place from which he could monitor the Masterhouse. No one was going to bring the sky stone out to him, which meant going in. He'd have to access the most sacred inner chambers and carry a heavy, ugly, and presumably valuable stone away from those who cherished it. This was not a job he'd ever have taken, but choice was no longer his.
". . . need skilled hands," a man said.
Peeking around the corner, Sevellon spotted a tall guard lingering near the blacksmith shop.
"What for?"
"The masters want the same kind of comforts within the Masterhouse as are available within Dragonhold."
"Look what it got them," the smith said.
The guard shrugged and moved on.
Rubbing his hands together, Sevellon moved away, knowing it would be best to let at least a little time pass before approaching the blacksmith. Sometimes a thief had to be subtle, a master thief even more so.
Chapter 12
Be the inspiration for a young person that you needed at their age, and you can travel in time.
--Master Jarvis, teacher
* * *
Pulling the spider stone from his sturdy inside pocket, Strom knew outrunning the ferals was unlikely. Clear skies left nowhere to hide. Valterius and Gerhonda had expended large amounts of energy getting the horses and riders back to Sinjin and the others. Now they faced jagged peaks, seaside cliffs, and the Arghast desert. Valterius chose the open sea beyond the cliffs. Gerhonda flew below and behind. Ferals appeared from the peaks around Catrin's Oasis, and Strom growled at the thought of them fouling the place.
More dragons, previously clinging to the cliffs, had been lying in wait. With the extra weight, the regal dragons gained altitude more slowly and were less nimble in their movements. The feral dragons took full advantage and did their best to surround the regals. They were succeeding. If only the Drak had less weight to bear, Strom thought, and he reached for the straps holding him in. He wouldn't survive the fall, but his sacrifice might give Sinjin a chance to grow old. It was not an easy choice or one made lightly, but air pressure changes pulsating with mighty wing flaps told him it might already be too late.
With the spider stone in hand, he tried to find the feral dragon he knew was so close. Through some trick the predators possessed, the huge creature hid from the smith until claws raked the air near his face, and that was when Strom unleashed his fury on the dragon above. Like a fiery snake, lightning pulsed and writhed. A thunderclap split the air, and the dragon above crumpled, quite suddenly bearing down on them, forcing them closer to rock-strewn waters.
Gerhonda whined as Valterius struggled to get away from the dead feral. Dropping below the cliffs they just so recently cleared, they plunged into the shadows. Here the land also shaped the air, and Valterius employed the turbulence to his advantage. Using a rolling updraft formed by the prevailing wind as it encountered the cliffs and mountains, Valterius rolled out from under the feral dragon and spread his wings. The sudden change in direction took Strom's breath and Sinjin screamed. Strom did his best to support his injured friend.
A cloud of ferals harried Gerhonda, and the smith despaired. Osbourne had no way to defend himself. They were helpless. Valterius worked to gain altitude, but it was clear it would not be eno
ugh. Trying to predict the dragon's movements, Strom took aim at the ferals but would just as likely hit Gerhonda.
"Give me a straight shot," Strom shouted, not knowing if the dragon would listen or understand. He never found out.
Rolling thunder tipped with screams and high-pitched thumps made it sound as if some leviathan had risen from the deep and joined the battle. To Strom's utter amazement, it appeared this new monster was on their side. Beams of fire and blue light raced into gathered ferals, scattering them. Gerhonda dipped lower, trying to get closer to Valterius. Her flight wobbled but she appeared mostly whole, those riding her injured but not dead.
Seeing the true nature of their salvation, Strom hollered with joy. The Drakon had arrived, and they flew as never before. Like Valterius and Gerhonda, they each carried an extra passenger, but the Dragon Clan rode facing backward, something Strom would never have considered. It was not the seating arrangement that was so remarkable, rather the speed at which they flew. As if propelled forward by the Dragon Clan, the Drakon split the air with speed no feral could match. They carried weapons like nothing Strom had ever known. Catrin and others had wielded the Staff of Life, but never had he seen gleaming metal staves glow with intricate fury.
Arakhan stood out amid the rest, his staff emitting structured light, forming geometric patterns and symbols. Around his arm, shields of blue light connected to rods and gears of pure plasma, man and staff together forming a larger machine. Strom watched in utter amazement as Arakhan pulled his arm back, engaging the mechanism, before releasing a blade of energy that sliced the air and anything it touched.
"Al'Drakon!" came their battle cry, sounding strange as they whizzed past.
Aerial chaos took on a more orderly form as the ferals began their retreat. Arakhan, Mikala, and the others soared after the fleeing dragons, while Valterius and Gerhonda made for the coastal cliffs. Not wasting any time after the valiant beast touched the rocky sands, Strom unstrapped himself and checked on Sinjin. The fighting had loosened his bandages and reopened the wound. The young man was far from defeated and worked to secure his own dressing. Strom handed him a water skin.
"By the gods!" Osbourne exclaimed, looking out over the water. In the distance, the Drakon fought. Ferals made a stand above black-sailed ships approaching the coastline. Red lightning leaped from the assembled ships, dark art once again threatening. Drakon faced danger from above and below; it was a lot to ask of anyone. The resultant light show caused the thin clouds, now gathering above the ships and growing darker, to glow from within.
"Be watchful," Kendra said. "They might not have all flown away."
She was right. Still, the horrific spectacle drew the eye. Somehow a second passenger and some sort of magical weapons had turned regal dragons into a lethal force. Never had Strom seen anything fight with such tenacity, accuracy, and deadly impact. But even with that, numbers were not on their side.
It was to the protection of their fleet the ferals had run. Seeing the Drakon make one last attack on the ferals while doing their best to avoid those on the ships below, Strom could not believe the raw power of their combined might. Peeling away, the Drakon took casualties in their retreat but still faired far better than the other side. The thought made Strom sick. Those were his friends and countrymen, and he vowed not to let their deaths go unavenged. Part of him wanted to take the fight to the ships and unleash the spider stone upon them, but protecting Sinjin and Kendra was more important. He had decided to trust Kyrien after their long flight back from the Black Spike, and he had to continue to believe, or all this might prove to be for naught.
The surviving Drakon returned with amazing speed, though they slowed upon approach. Regal dragons gathered along the same cliffs from which Nat Dersinger had once pushed Catrin.
Breathless, Brother Vaughn managed to say, "We found a cache of ancient artifacts."
Strom could see in the man's face he didn't tell them everything, but he didn't press the issue.
"How badly are you hurt?" Brother Vaughn asked Sinjin.
"I've lost some blood. We've got the bleeding stopped again. Given time, I'll heal."
The monk pulled a wooden box from the leather satchel he carried and mixed three powders together on a dried leaf. "Here. When the pain is high, take a pinch with water."
Sinjin took the leaf, looked at it for a moment, then poured the contents into his mouth. Brother Vaughn produced a water flask. The young man grimaced and drank more water than advisable but to his credit did not spit it out. He handed the leaf back to the monk, who waved it off. "Chew on it," he said. Again, he did as he was told and popped the leaf into his mouth. He made another face but kept chewing. That was when Strom knew it really hurt.
"I have my mother's sword," Sinjin said, the leaf tucked in his left cheek. "But I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with it. With no additional information, I can only assume I'm to take it back to the crystal. If my mother objects, she is clearly capable of telling us to leave." No one could argue his point. Sinjin watched the horizon, ever vigilant in spite of his pain, and Strom was embarrassed when the wounded man proved more observant than he. "Fires." Multiple smoke columns rose from behind not-so-distant mountains. "That looks like Harborton and the Lower Pinook."
"They've not even recovered," Kendra said, shaking her head in dismay.
Sinjin limped toward Valterius.
"You must go to your mother," Arakhan said, stepping between Al'Drakon and Al'Drak.
"This is my homeland," Sinjin said.
"And ours as well." As if to bolster his words, formations of Arghast riders appeared, heading toward the Pinook Valley. It was an awe-inspiring sight. "We will protect our homeland. You must go."
With a sad nod, Sinjin extended his hand to Arakhan. "Take good care of them."
"You must take weapons and thrust spheres," Arakhan said. Sinjin considered protesting, but Arakhan gave him a look that told him just how foolish it would be.
Strom looked at the delicate glass sphere someone handed to him.
Brother Vaughn approached Strom. "Just point that away from everyone and think about a strong wind."
Strom somewhat reluctantly did as he was told, and the roar was immediate. He sighed. Osbourne extended his trembling hand. Strom gave him an unreadable look as he handed the orb to his friend. Closing his eyes and squinting, Osbourne held the thrust sphere out toward the desert and concentrated. Nothing happened. His face was a mixture of disappointment and relief.
"Try the staff," Brother Vaughn said.
Strom almost punched him. When the monk handed him the work of metal art, the smith was enamored. Such craftsmanship he'd never seen, and just a quick glance taught him things. This was a treasure beyond measure. Grasping it lightly, he pointed it toward the sands as Brother Vaughn instructed and applied his will but was surprised and a little disappointed when it didn't work.
"Not every staff works for every person," Brother Vaughn said. "We're still figuring this stuff out. For now, though, looks like it's a light bow for you."
Strom accepted the weapon with no small amount of trepidation. If what they said was true, and he had no reason not to believe them, this weapon was from the last Istran phase. Most things he'd encountered from the last age had tried to kill him. Pulling the trigger seemed dangerous folly. Still, he lived in dangerous times. With a deep breath, he turned the weapon toward the sands and fired. The high-pitched thump sounded even different from that vantage point, and Strom could see the utility of such a weapon. With that said, wielding it terrified him, knowing he might accidentally incinerate his friends.
"Most importantly," Brother Vaughn said, "don't shoot the dragon."
Valterius trumpeted his agreement.
"Without the ability to provide thrust, I'll be of little use," Osbourne said.
The comment was aimed at Brother Vaughn, who'd already proven his use of the thrust sphere. Strom hated to see his friend left behind, but perhaps it was for the best. Maybe one would s
urvive. A thrust sphere had been recovered from a fallen friend, and Strom accepted it with reluctance. He strapped the light bow over his shoulder, and Sinjin had his at the ready. It felt strange facing backward, but Brother Vaughn climbed up behind Kendra and looked much the same as he did. Testing the straps one more time, he hoped he was truly secure.
"Let's get in the air before you use those things. And remember, don't shoot the dragons."
"Got it," Strom said.
More fires sent smoke into the air over the Upper Pinook Valley. From between the columns came a flight of dragons--each bearing a rider. Strom cursed. Drakon took flight.
In tight formation, the ferals flew low over the desert, creating a dust plume. Red lightning painted the clouds. The ferals moved faster than they could achieve on their own. Great, Strom thought. What had seemed a huge advantage might just level the field.
"Go!" Arakhan shouted.
It should have been Al'Drakon giving the orders, but all that would matter little if none survived. Arakhan was right and Sinjin obeyed. He was Al'Drakon, but he was no fool. Valterius pointed them out to sea, and Strom tested the thrust sphere with more intent than before. Holding out his hand, he concentrated and applied his focus to moving the air behind him. At first it felt as if nothing happened, but he could see the turbulent wash he'd created from mists roiling above the water. Trying again, he concentrated on thrust, applied to him and ultimately Valterius. The result was immediate, and Strom thought they might spin out of control. Valterius trimmed his wings and kept them upright in the turbulent air, his roar lost to the wind.
The speed was too much, but Strom lacked control. With deep breaths, he lowered his heart rate, slowed his breathing, and eased off the thrust. When they reached a speed less likely to tear them all to pieces, Valterius turned and gave him an unyielding stare.
"Sorry," Strom said.
Sinjin grunted. "Might need to go easy on that."
Looking back, Strom saw just how far behind Gerhonda had fallen. Ferals gained on her, in spite of Brother Vaughn's efforts. If not for Arakhan, the rest of the Drakon and the Dragon Clan, they would have been overwhelmed. The Drakon were now battle tested, and it began to show.
The Seventh Magic (Book 3) Page 12
