Arcane power flooded from those aboard feral dragons, but much of their energy went into speed. Strom watched them come, seeing the energy they radiated. Rather than using thrust as the Dragon Clan did, these sorcerers pulled at the air, tearing it apart, somehow forcing a bubble of relatively still air through the cavitation. The effect propelled them forward with a strange tearing sound, those aboard looking as if they felt nothing but a soft breeze, dark robes barely stirring.
Projectiles of electric blue light raced toward the dragons as the Drakon coordinated their efforts, careful not to fire into their own ranks. Following Arakhan, they let him select the targets, and they attacked each before moving on to the next. The ruthless tactic maximized the weapons' effects. Had they been spread out, striking various targets without eliminating them, they would still face most of the ferals. Using this technique allowed them to reduce the enemy's numbers more quickly. But the dark-robed figures aboard the ferals were no fools, nor were the dragons they rode. Soon they shifted their efforts from speed to defense.
"Go!" Arakhan yelled again.
Gerhonda picked up speed, and when she caught up with Valterius, Brother Vaughn looked exhausted. Hoping he would hold up, Strom waved in encouragement; the monk gestured weakly. Sitting as he was, Strom could do little but look back at the still-raging battle and feel guilty for leaving those he cared about. Osbourne should be by his side at a time like this. He wished his old friend well.
* * *
The only advantage ash fall provided was that camouflage was inherent and inescapable. Everything blended together, stained by pumice. Sevellon the thief carried a rock through the wilderness. This was the last thing he would do in service to dragons, he told himself. He had trained to facilitate the flow of valuable objects between wealthy families and organizations. This was generally best done in cities. Surviving alone on the Godfist tested the limits of his survival skills. While he knew how to create fires that emitted very little smoke, he would need something to cook.
Turning over rocks, looking for bait, and putting them back as they were, he left as little evidence of his passing as possible. His senses heightened, every noise was suspect. Fishing would put him out in the open, which meant night fishing. Unless thick clouds blew in, there would be plenty of comet light, more than he actually needed or wanted. He would be exposed. Dragons and other enemies aside, the Godfist was already a dangerous place. Plenty of hungry predators were about, and snakes provided yet another threat. Shivering, he tried to think about something else, something nice. Somewhere waiting for him was a city where no one knew his name, a place where the things lurking in the darkness were other people. He could handle people.
With every step north, the land grew wilder. Less evidence of humans coincided with more signs of . . . other activity. Dragon bones became more prevalent along with gouges in the land. Warnings such as these would normally have sent him back in the direction he'd come, but he stayed his course, knowing he'd never be rid of dragons if he did not complete this task. The creatures were terrifying to fight but perhaps even more frightening because of their ability to manipulate people's thoughts without their ever knowing. Looking back on his life, there were times when the urges of supposed instincts had been overwhelming. He would be a pawn no more. After this, he had a very simple plan: stay alive and avoid dragons. Perhaps living underground was not such a terrible idea after all.
Memories of his time within Dragonhold and aboard the Slippery Eel brought with them regret. No matter how he tried to push them away, Sevellon felt them acutely. He was getting old and losing his edge. Though now almost certain he'd been manipulated by dragons, likely more than one, he took responsibility for his actions. Unsure how this would change his life, he moved deeper into forested foothills.
A sound like thunder came from nearby. Sevellon froze. There was not a cloud in the sky. Deep, guttural woofs and grunts sounded, disturbing the relative stillness. Covered in sooty ash, Sevellon did his best to be invisible. By the size of the nose that came into view a moment later, he also hoped the pumice masked his smell.
Snuffling a wuffing, the giant crawled along the forest floor, grunting and whining as it went. The thief watched in fascinated horror. Fingers as large as he was gently swept much of the ash fall aside, allowing the beast to sniff out toadstools. Whining and grunting with each one found, the giant was in every way unlike what Sevellon had expected. Its masters had fled the Godfist, and this creature at least appeared to have returned to its natural state. This was only a small consolation since that state was huge and ravenous.
At times, the thief's luck seemed to wander off, and the giant found a particularly bountiful toadstool patch nearby. Excited by its find, it squealed with delight and shook the trees. A fallen branch struck Sevellon, but he remained quiet and still. Long moments passed while the giant ate, its knees coming dangerously close to where the thief hid. Not long after, though, the creature yawned and rolled onto its side. By the time the sun dipped below the ridgeline, the beast snored and twitched in its sleep. Crying out and thrashing as if having a nightmare, the giant was perhaps as dangerous asleep as awake. Nonetheless, Sevellon knew this might be his only chance to escape. No matter how docile the giant may seem, he didn't want to find out what would happen if it realized he was there.
Moving toward a nearby clearing, Sevellon cursed branches and leaves that made stealth slow and arduous. Still the giant snored, shaking the foliage. During a brief pause between snores, the thief slipped, his boot landing on a dead branch that snapped on impact. Movement made Sevellon freeze, the trees around him stirring. The last of the regent dragons reared and towered above, gazing down on him.
Eyes closed, Sevellon did the only thing he could think of and held the sky stone over his head, hoping the creature didn't take his arms off with it. Instead, the stone was lifted away without tooth or claw touching him as he'd feared. Wind buffeted and shook the forest. When Sevellon opened his eyes, he saw Kyrien's silhouette against the backdrop of comets, both beautiful and terrifying. At his feet, the thief found a pack filled with tools and provisions that would have been an enormous help in getting him there. At least he would have them for the way out. The dragon's voice in his mind reminded him of what he needed to do.
Go. Run.
It was then Sevellon realized he no longer heard the giant's snore. Turning back, he found the creature watching him with far too much interest. Though its visage was more inquisitive than vengeful, Sevellon had no desire to satisfy its curiosity. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he ran.
* * *
Miss Mariss tried not to despair, but it was difficult. She'd rebuilt her life and those around her before; she could do it again. Helplessness drove her to distraction. The events shaping her world were far beyond her control. Much of what she had done might not even have been of her own volition. Mael's influence tainted everything they had accomplished, much of which he'd already managed to destroy.
While she and the others hadn't built Dragonhold, it was in many ways her home, and she took pride in the work done to restore the keep. So suddenly that had been taken away--and with so much damage--and what remained was covered in ankle-deep soot. If Durin were there, she'd have told him to start shoveling. That thought didn't help. So many of those she cared about were gone; even if some had driven her to distraction, she missed them.
Most were busy salvaging what supplies they could when the shouts came. Nearly screaming in frustration, Miss Mariss couldn't imagine what else could go wrong.
"We're under attack!"
Those words seemed impossible to her. What was there to take? A filthy hold with a giant hole in it and a few tenacious people? It made no sense.
"Started seeing fires to the south," Bradley said, out of breath and holding his shirt over his face to keep out the black dust hanging in the air, "but more come from the north."
It still made no sense, but that changed the realities of the situation very little. The
y could not surrender; that would be suicide. The best she could think of was to hole up in the kitchens and defend the halls as best they could. The cave-in mechanisms had all been triggered in previous battles, and none had been re-created. It was obvious now they should have put those defenses back into place, but there had been so little time and so many things needing doing. It was a wonder they had kept everyone fed. No matter the excuses, the result was the same.
Chase approached, cursing as he came.
"My feelings exactly," Miss Mariss said.
"We need to fall back and just let them have the place," Chase said.
"We don't even know what, if anything, survived Mael's escape."
Nodding, Chase considered their situation. It was one of the reasons she trusted him. The man had the good sense to think instead of just telling her why she was wrong. Distant screams and explosions rang within the hold followed by shouting.
"We'll do as you say," Miss Mariss said, knowing they had no more time to consider.
"Fighting in the valley!" someone shouted from the great hall.
In the background ululating calls were punctuated by the words, "Al'Drakon!" Blue light filled the outer hall, and Miss Mariss could not help but run with Chase and the others to see what was happening. None foolish enough to charge into an ongoing battle, they armed themselves as best they could. Knowing the Drakon had come to fight for them, though, gave them ample reason to help in any way possible. A tear came to her eye as she ran, and she wiped it away. They had not been abandoned. Despair lost a bit more of its grip.
Regal dragons whizzed past the main entrance in a blur, rolling thunder behind them. Flickering blue light illuminated the littered hall in a way that chilled Miss Mariss's blood. Then it was time to go. At the lip of the broken stair leading into Dragonhold came an enormous hand then another. With a terrible roar, the giant pulled itself upward.
"To the kitchens!" Chase commanded. "Evacuate to the kitchens!"
More figures emerged from below, a towering giant guarding them. Miss Mariss stumbled when strange, high-pitched sounds echoed within the hold. Blue-white light was brighter now, and the giant's roar changed to a scream. Regal dragons entered the hold with deadly speed. Any mistake would surely be fatal, but any slower and they would have been easy targets. Each dragon carried two riders armed with weapons like nothing she'd ever seen.
The rush of wind came with the Drakon, and they sent the dust swirling around the great hall. No one had ignored Chase's orders, and most jammed the hall leading to the kitchens when Miss Mariss reached it. She turned once again to see the Drakon landing around her, all facing her. She wasn't certain she understood until the rush of air grew. Seated backward, each passenger held some sort of glowing object in his or her hands, and the wind rushed from them like an unnatural hurricane. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been difficult for anyone in the main hall to withstand for long, but the thick layer of pulverized rock made for a powerful scouring agent. Had they been in the Pinook Valley, they would have seen a roiling black cloud billow from the mountainside and blot out the light.
Chapter 13
Gullibility invites harm.
--Allette Kilbor, the Black Queen
* * *
Providing thrust did not come without effort; one could do so for only so long. Both Strom and Brother Vaughn had done what they could, but even the dragons tired from flying at such high speeds. For every advantage, a price was paid. Sinjin loosened straps. Hopping down to the sandy atoll proved difficult. Whether from the wound itself or as a result of his favoring the injury, his stiff back ached. Though uninhabited, this nearly complete ring of rock and sand provided an excellent place to rest. A few trees grew along the thicker sections of the island, and food was plentiful. Fresh water was not. They would need to conserve until opportunity to replenish their supplies presented itself.
"I just don't understand," Kendra said, breaking the silence. It had been difficult to talk while flying. "What are you supposed to do now?"
"All I can do is hope Kyrien knows what he's doing."
Strom grunted. "Seems we've little choice in the matter."
"I just don't see how sacrificing yourself will help your mother."
Sinjin nodded silently. He didn't know either.
"We don't even know why she sacrificed herself in the first place."
"I'm sure she had reasons," Strom said.
"Pelivor said he thought she had planned it all along and just didn't want him to know until it was too late. He knows my mother better than just about anyone else in the world, and he said it was just the kind of thing she would do. I tend to agree."
Strom nodded.
"We know she's alive, or at least she was yesterday," Sinjin continued. "She knows I've retrieved the sword, and she didn't tell me not to come. It's all I have to go on."
"I just think we'd all like a little more than that," Brother Vaughn said.
Sinjin shrugged.
"We come in at night," Strom said after a long silence. "There should be plenty of light to see by close up but not enough for them to see us coming from afar. I can use the figurine to blind them."
"And the rest of us," Brother Vaughn added.
"Good point," Strom admitted. "When I yell 'darkness,' cover your eyes."
It seemed an awfully thin plan to Sinjin, but he was thankful to the smith. He'd thought he might have to drag them there against a mountain of protest. At least Strom understood the necessity. He suspected Kendra and Brother Vaughn did as well, but that didn't mean they had to like it.
"When we reach land," Strom continued, "I suggest we stop using the thrust spheres. We can come in quieter that way, and we'll be fresher when speed is needed."
Valterius grunted. Sinjin reminded himself none of this was easy on the dragons either. Without them, they'd surely be lost. Valterius sighed, as if reading his thoughts.
"She showed me how to get in," Sinjin finally added. "From the top."
"You're not really planning to jump in there too, are you?" Kendra asked, having a way of making the question a threat.
"I don't know what else to do. We could just fly over and drop the sword, but something tells me that's not going to work. We could take on every feral dragon, giant, demon, and soldier and see how we make out, but I suspect it won't end well. Or I can follow my mother, bring her what she needs, and hope to survive." Even Kendra remained silent after those words, no doubt feeling the sting of his sarcasm. "Sorry."
"If you die, I'm going to kill you," Kendra said, and Sinjin couldn't help but laugh. After hugging his wife a little harder than advisable, he winced from the pain. It was worth it.
When they took off again, the air was uneasily still, the need for stealth greater than speed. Sinjin and the others had grown accustomed to propelled flight. Now flying at normal speeds felt strange and dreadfully slow. Perhaps taking offense from this very notion, Valterius put them into a dive. Dragons were plenty fast on their own. Sometimes Sinjin envied his mother's ability to communicate directly with Kyrien, but he'd come to have his own bond with Valterius. They may not speak in each other's minds, but they shared a deep, somehow inherent understanding of body language, posture, muscle movements, and other outward expressions of the inner self. And even with all those things, Sinjin had absolutely no idea what his dragon thought about their destination.
Gerhonda, too, had been subdued and just a little too predictable. Sinjin had come to believe they behaved themselves only when humans did what they wanted. His life's path had largely been dictated by dragons, and he had to rethink just where he fit into the equation. Knowing what he did of Mael's influence on world events, he couldn't help but feel violated. In his desire to escape from Dragonhold, Mael had subverted the lives of Sinjin, his family, and everyone else on the planet. It seemed too much to believe but evidence mounted. Once aware of the ancient sorcerer's machinations, proof and instances to support it sprang to mind until it was obvious. He was no
t alone in feeling like a fool.
Strom had been right about the light. Istra sent three large comets scudding across the sky, bits breaking off and streaking across the horizon.
"Are you sure about this?" Kendra asked, her voice sounding too loud in the stillness.
Sinjin wasn't certain at all, but he would not let his mother down. She had helped him get the sword, and he would take it to her one way or another. "I think Valterius, Strom, and I should go on alone from here. But what I think about that doesn't matter."
"You're darned right it doesn't," Kendra said.
Nodding in acceptance, Sinjin let the silence hang again. His gut churned. He'd expected Kyrien to meet them. His mother's boiling dragon sent them on this quest and had not yet seen fit to tell him why or what he was supposed to do. Kyrien made a good target for his anger. The dragon had endangered everything Sinjin loved with mysteries and riddles. He suspected Kyrien had reasons for what he did, but at that moment, it didn't matter. He was frightened. His wife wanted answers, and he didn't have any. He wanted her to live a long and happy life, but it was not his to decide. He wanted to live that life with her but might not get the chance. For his mother, he would throw himself into the depths, and for her love of him, his wife would follow. The pain was deep and physical.
Strom, Brother Vaughn, and the dragons were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was unlikely to end well. The thrust might give them some chance, but Sinjin lacked optimism. Gathering the Drakon and joining forces with their allies would take time, and he somehow knew it would be too late. Cursing dragons that played with his thoughts, he watched the horizon.
Bits of light streamed across the skies far faster than anything else. Comets farther away moved more slowly. It created a sky filled with dancing light beams, some streaking from horizon to horizon in a single breath. Not even a wisp of cloud obscured the view. Reflecting the light, the landscape looked more like a glittering jewel than a black swamp. Birds flew beneath them in the preternatural light, painted orange and purple, beacons of life and hope. It was a strange but welcome omen.
The Seventh Magic (Book 3) Page 13
