* * *
Never had Emmet felt so lonely. Barabas and Dashiq were both unconscious. Berigor held them in his claws, which was far from a comfortable way to fly. Overwhelming emotion was crippling, but the people he cared about most needed him. His heroes had not given up, and neither would he. After taking a deep breath, Emmet placed his hands on Dashiq's neck. Unlike the times he had helped Barabas send healing energy to the dragon, Emmet was in complete control. He moderated the flow, dictated the cadence, and applied the intent, whereas before he'd been but a participant, feeding energy to the existing flow. Now he conducted a magnificent orchestra. All his life, magic had been missing. Like craving a specific food when the body is deficient, magic had called to him. Now he'd found it. Going back would be impossible.
His was the curse of the magic user born after the magic had gone. Only scraps remained—beautiful, delicious scraps. Beneath him, the saddle pulsed with power. The stones were streaked, milky white, and he knew when they went all white, the magic would be forever gone—or at least for two thousand years if the tales were to be believed. The scale of it frightened him. His actions would impact the availability of magic and power for future generations. The saddle and its stones were not his to use as he pleased. Still, he let himself fall into the energy, suspended on the vibrations. It was not for himself he did this, but deep down, he had to admit he relished the experience.
Leaving one hand on Dashiq, Emmet reached forward and placed the other on Barabas. The man did not move, but life force pulsed within him—weak and erratic. Focusing his intention, he let the energy flow through him. He was the conductor. His body warmed and no matter how he wished to send all the energy his friends needed, he could not. Like a wick, he would burn out. Instead, he drew lesser amounts of energy and crafted it into structured waves of intent. Equations revealed themselves in his mind, showing the true nature of the world and the energy surrounding him; he could feel it.
Dashiq was fading, her pain deep and irreversible. Emmet did his best to comfort her, but it was not enough—would not be enough. She was still there, but he didn't know for how much longer. The passage of time had long been the bane of Emmet's existence, and he found himself surprised when Berigor bellowed, about to lower them to a rocky shoreline.
Emmet recognized the place from his first journey to the shallows. No matter how the bigger dragon tried, he could not gently place Dashiq on the rough landscape. Showing she was once again conscious, Dashiq lowered her claws and absorbed the short fall. Barabas, too, showed signs of being awake and alert; his hands fumbled at the straps. Before Emmet reached him, the older man rolled out of the saddle and fell to the ground. By the time Emmet undid the belts and climbed down, Barabas had hauled himself up and retrieved his walking stick from within the saddle.
When he reached the dragon's eye, Dashiq issued a moan ending in a mighty woof. The burst of air made Barabas take a step back. Letting out a low, squealing moan, she closed her eye and nuzzled him. The two stood in a quiet embrace for some time. Inspecting the saddle, Emmet found it distressingly chalky and white—all over, especially around the seats. Along the outer edges, a few stones retained some luster and clarity. He'd done what he could do to heal his friends, and he felt it better to leave the remaining power be, although it called to him.
Berigor landed nearby, and Keldon approached. "I'm sorry I did not arrive sooner."
The apology was enough to express his understanding of the situation. They were in trouble.
"The shallows?" Emmet asked.
Barabas nodded, never opening his eyes or releasing his embrace with Dashiq. It was the dragon who finally broke the bond between them and pulled her head away. She looked down to Emmet and he approached. Briefly she nuzzled him, appreciation and love exuded through the bond. She was so weak. It pained him to see her so and knowing the flight to the shallows was too much to ask. It had taken days from this place the last time, and she'd been in far better health. She would likely perish before reaching the shallows; it was something no one wanted to say. The dragon turned her head to the side so Emmet could see the metalwork comprising much of her jaw and facial structure. There, set into a complex mechanical orifice, rested Azzakkan's Eye—still glossy and slick and pulsing with power all its own. Dashiq pushed her head into his hand, and his fingers came to rest on the release. Scales lining the eye socket rotated outward in succession, until Azzakkan's Eye dropped into his palm, still warm.
The power emanating from the glassy sphere was completely unlike what was stored within the saddle's stones. Where he had drawn raw energy from those stones and crafted it into the form he desired, the energy from the eye was already a symphony of structure and architecture; Emmet could do nothing to improve on that masterwork.
No one spoke.
The choice was Emmet's—the decision his. He did not hesitate. His destiny was upon him, and he owed it to his sister and Tuck and Barabas and Dashiq. Approaching Berigor, he passed Keldon, who remained silent. The man had perhaps learned from his own mistakes. The warrior Emmet had first met would never have let him reach for his dragon's eye. Now, though, he watched in cautious silence while Berigor gazed down on Emmet. The larger dragon had to turn his head all the way to one side for the small boy to reach. Again the mechanism released the glass eye into Emmet's palm. The two looked similar, and perhaps some would find them difficult to tell apart, but for Emmet, it was unmistakable. The one Berigor had just returned to him was a poor imitation of the real thing. No power emanated from it. It had been largely cosmetic.
Reaching up, Emmet inserted Azzakkan's Eye into the socket. The mechanism issued a series of clicks, each scale rotating back into place, securing the eye. Berigor shook his head and took a step back. A moment later blue flames danced along the rims of his nostrils.
"Easy, boy," Keldon said. "Not certain you know what you've just done, young man. Berigor has always been . . . spirited . . . and he's still young. But I also thank you. He, too, is far from healed. Azzakkan's Eye will help him."
As if to answer the words, Berigor snorted, his nostrils flaring.
"She can't fly," Barabas said, and the words came out like nails being driven into his heart. "But she doesn't want to be carried either. She is well enough to get airborne and grab Berigor's tail."
Keldon nodded. "Here are some rations. It's just some dried fruits, meats, and cheeses."
"It's most welcome," Barabas said.
"There really is no time to waste, then," Keldon said before climbing back onto Berigor. The look on his face told Emmet what he needed to know. Al'Drakon felt the magic just as he had. It would take some getting used to. Already Emmet felt cold and bereft of the energy the Eye exuded. No matter how he tried, he could not imagine a wizard skilled enough to craft glass, metal, and magic into a work of art, yet the evidence was overwhelming. Someone had once achieved this level of mastery and created the artifact. It was both humbling and enticing. Given the opportunity, he wondered what else he might learn to do and create. Trying not to let the fact that so little magic remained in the world terrify him, Emmet imagined the things of which he might be capable.
Before he mounted, though, Emmet approached Dashiq with the glass eye. The dragon calmly refused it, pushing him back toward the saddle. Barabas gave him a boost, and soon Emmet was bathed in the ambient glow of the last vestiges of energy remaining in the saddle. Berigor and Keldon alighted, and Barabas strapped himself in.
Never had Dashiq struggled so hard to get herself into the air, but she was still alive, and it was in her very nature. After several long and torturous moments, she gained the skies and skimmed over the waves. Berigor appeared before them in what felt like a short period of time; Emmet was never truly certain. Dashiq grabbed on to his mighty tail and wrapped hers around his. The bull dragon trumpeted. Magic poured over them all as Berigor drew deeply from Azzakkan's Eye for the first time. The metalwork in his face blazed brightly, exceeding even what Dashiq had achieved. When he mov
ed his head, the metalwork flexed and moved, molten and reacting like normal flesh and bone.
The air changed pitch when Berigor leaned into the wind, using it to send them ever faster until their hair flew straight backward and their cheeks flapped.
"No more!" Keldon yelled.
Faster still Berigor flew.
Even lacking synchronicity, Emmet knew time was not on their side. Judging by how many stops it had required, he surmised it had taken weeks to reach the shallows the first time. Speed was called for, but there were limits.
Ducking down behind Barabas, Emmet enjoyed some of the rations Keldon had provided. Twice he tried to share with Barabas, and both times the man refused. Emmet worried about him. The man had become something of a father figure. Emmet's own father wasn't coming back, and Barabas had much to teach and share. The uncertainty of the near future gnawed at him as he ate, and it didn't take long for his appetite to fade. It was probably for the best. Who knew how long they would have to live on the rations they had with them?
Getting low in the saddle, Emmet found a spot where the wind wasn't so bad, and soon he slept.
Dragon Airways Page 53
