Flamecaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “No,” Strangward said, shaking his head. “There’s got to be more to you than that.”

  “Has it occurred to you that I’m not the one the empress is looking for? That I’m just a girl with a birthmark who has nothing to do with any of this?”

  “That may be,” Strangward said, “but I can’t take that chance. If you tell me the truth, I might be able to help you, depending on what the truth is.”

  Jenna’s anger rekindled. “You’ll help me? Before you came along, I didn’t need help.”

  He frowned at her, as if confused. “What have I done?”

  The anger that had been simmering in Jenna came to a full boil. “I had a life,” she said. “It was a hard, desperate life, but it was something. Your mistress set the king of Arden to hunting me, and I lost my only family, my home, and my livelihood in the space of a month. Since then, I’ve been chained in a dungeon. Forgive me if I’m not eager to accept your offer of help.”

  “I am sorry about what’s happened to you,” Strangward said. He stood and paced back and forth. “I know what it’s like to be hunted.”

  Through the window, Jenna heard the bells in the temple tower strike one.

  “My lord?” The tallest of Strangward’s companions nodded toward the window and raised his eyebrows.

  “I know, Teza. I just need a little more time.” Strangward came back and sat down on the hearth, letting his hands drop between his knees. He took a deep breath, then said, “Tell me about your relationship with the Empress Celestine.”

  “I am sick and tired of answering the same questions over and over,” Jenna said, her voice rising. “Why don’t you ask one of the other dozen people who’ve asked?”

  The emissary raised both hands, as if to fend her off. “I am sorry for that. But I just want to make sure—make very sure—that we haven’t missed anything.”

  She shivered, and it wasn’t just the draft from the window. There was something about the way he said it—something told her that there was a lot riding on the answer.

  Abruptly, he gripped her hands again and sent more power sizzling into her. “Why is the empress looking for you? Tell me.” Finally, he let go and muttered, “This isn’t working, is it? You really are resistant to magic.” He said it like he was confirming something he’d been told.

  But now images swirled through her mind, spinning so rapidly that she couldn’t fasten on any one of them. She pressed her hands to either side of her head, as if she could trap them somehow.

  What was it? It was so damned frustrating.

  “My lord,” the man called Teza said again. “We cannot stay much longer if we’re to catch the tide.”

  Strangward nodded then, as if resigned. He squatted in front of Jenna, so he could look her in the eyes. “Are you telling me the truth, Jenna?” he asked quietly. In a last-chance kind of way. “You really don’t know why the empress is so desperate to find you? This is really important to both of us.”

  “No,” she said, “I don’t know. I wish that I did. I’d hoped that you would explain it to me. I suppose we’ll just have to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She’d heard another voice, deep in her mind, stronger than it had been before.

  Flamecaster. I come.

  “Lord Strangward, a moment,” Teza said, motioning him closer. Strangward stood and crossed to where his liegeman waited near the door.

  “I know this is hard for you,” Teza said in a voice that Jenna shouldn’t have been able to hear. “If it must be done, let me do it.”

  “It is not fair for me to ask you to do this task for me,” Strangward said. “You’ve risked your life, you’ve lost so much already. I’ll do it myself.”

  “But I’m volunteering, my lord. You know that I’m good with a blade. It will be a quick, kind cut. She won’t feel it, I promise.”

  Jenna’s heart began to thump. She was no lamb, waiting patiently to be sacrificed. Easing to her feet, she grabbed up the oil lamp from the hearth, sprinted toward them, and flung it at the two of them. It shattered on the floor at their feet, spilling burning oil over the floor and the two men.

  Flamecaster.

  Jenna bolted for the door, leaping over a puddle of burning oil. She grabbed the door handle and yanked at it. Someone—Strangward or Teza—seized her arms and shoulders, dragging her back. They slipped in the oil and fell. The back of her head slammed into stone, and lights exploded behind her eyes. She heard screaming, someone calling her name, the door opening and closing. She smelled burning flesh, and wondered if it might be hers.

  At that moment, one of the images Strangward had given her finally came into focus. It was a silver-haired woman, standing next to a fiery crater. She held a struggling child in her hands, dangling him over the flames. And then, as Jenna watched, horrified, she let him go.

  She propped up to find that there was flame all around her. The draperies were ablaze, and the tapestries smoldering, stinking of burning wool and lanolin. Flames burned ceiling-high between her and the door. There would be no escape that way. She saw two charred bodies, but nobody else. The rest must have fled, and left her here to burn.

  She guessed her skin must be charred as well, because it felt oddly numb. She looked down, and saw that her arms were encased in glittering scales, her hands replaced by claws. It reminded her of the way her wound had looked when it began to heal. The scales were gold and silver and copper—all the colors of her hair.

  She screamed, but the sound was lost in the inferno.

  I’m addled by the smoke and the blow to my head, Jenna thought. I’ve got to get to fresh air. Crawling on her hands and knees over broken glass, she made her way to the window, where the wind still howled through the grate, only now snow swirled into the room, and hailstones the size of marbles clattered on the floor. She huddled under the window, her arms wrapped around herself, waiting to burn to death. And then it occurred to her that she didn’t have to wait.

  She’d tied the packet the healer had given her inside her bodice, so it hung between her breasts. She caught a claw under it and lifted it out, but then could not manage to untie the string with her hands the way they were. She bit at the string, then tried to rip apart the cloth bag. As she did so, the berries fell out, landing somewhere on the floor.

  She groped with her clawed hands, but couldn’t find them by feel or by scent. She screamed, a harsh cry of despair and frustration that echoed around the room. There came an answering cry from outside the tower, a cry that resonated inside her.

  She thrust her face into the wind, into the clean, cold air, slitting her eyes against the bits of ice. Pressing her claws against the marble, she cried, “Flamecaster!” and heard the beating of wings.

  40

  DEATH BY DRAGON

  Ash cut the throat of the first priest who dropped through the hatch. He didn’t need flash for that. He stopped the heart of the second, which didn’t take much. With the third one, though, there wasn’t time for finesse. Ash immolated him before he hit the floor. It felt good, to be using attack magic again, as if he were using muscles he hadn’t stretched in a while.

  Then something struck him hard, on the shoulder, sending him flying into the wall.

  It was the dragon; it was trying to open its wings.

  “Not down here,” Ash hissed, scrambling to his feet. But by that time, one of the priests had dropped into the hold and stood facing Ash, his blade in his hand, so fixed on his target and the scent of blood that he didn’t seem to notice the dragon.

  “Prepare to die, demon,” the priest said, drawing his lips away from yellowed teeth stained with blood. It was the nightmare in the dormitory room all over again.

  The dragon can be a distraction. That’s what he’d told Lila.

  Ash pointed over the priest’s shoulder. “Look out for the dragon,” he said.

  “If you think I am so foolish as to—aaaaiiiiieeee!”

  Ash dove out of danger as the dragon lashed his tail, the spikes impaling the oblivious priest, then
smashed him against the wall to either side. Ash covered Lila with his body as tiles shattered all around them, the shards littering the floor and biting into his exposed skin.

  Death by dragon. That hadn’t been on his list of possibilities.

  More priests were wedged into the hatch, all of them trying to get through at once. The dragon sent flame torrenting into them, wave after wave, and the screaming began.

  The noise was deafening—the shrieking of the priests, the dragon’s primal cries of rage and fear. Ash’s eyes burned as he breathed in the stench of sulfur and charred flesh.

  Well, all right, Ash thought. Maybe freeing the dragon wasn’t such a good idea. Especially since there was no way any of them could get out of the hold.

  Then again, it was a great distraction. And he was enjoying watching those meetings between the dragon and the priests.

  The dragon roared, a battle cry. His legs bunched under him and he launched, smashing through decking, sending what remained of the priests flying in all directions. Another scream of rage and it was gone, leaving a charred hole behind.

  Rain poured through the shattered deck, sending steam rising where it hit burning wood and bodies. It turned out there was a way out for a dragon. And, now, for them.

  “Let’s go,” Ash said, giving Lila a hand up. “I don’t think we want to stay and find out if dragon flame can set off explosives.”

  They climbed over and around mounds of rubble, passing through the hole where the wall of the hold had been, moving forward until they found a stairway. Lila cried out once or twice when she bumped or jostled her arm, then pressed her lips tightly together as if to prevent its happening again. Once on deck, they hurried aft to the gangway. Ash didn’t think Lila could manage the rope ladder.

  The dock was swarming with blackbirds, who must have come running at the sight of the burning ship. Ash scanned them, looking for someone that he knew, and spotted Marc DeJardin. He and Guy Fleury were busy wetting down the docks and hurrying masters to their ships so that they could get underway and out of danger.

  “Marc!” he called from the deck. “Barrowhill is hurt. She needs a healer right away.”

  Marc motioned to a handful of wide-eyed healers, standing by for orders. Ash was pleased to see that Harold and Boyd were among them.

  “Harold, Boyd! Get over here!” They hustled forward, bursting with importance, pleased and proud at being chosen out. When Harold recognized Ash, he said, “Master Adam, why are you wearing a guardsman’s cloak?”

  “I got cold,” Ash said. “And so did Barrowhill. She’s been stabbed, and I know I can count on you to take care of her until I get back.”

  “I’m all right,” Lila hissed. “I need to take care of the—you know—”

  “I’ll handle it,” Ash said. Turning back to the apprentices, he said, “It was a four-inch blade, entry between the collarbone and the right shoulder. I’ve stopped the bleeding, on the outside at least. Apply a dressing and bandage, then immobilize the arm and fashion a sling. Keep her warm and keep her quiet. Make sense?”

  They nodded in unison, ignoring Lila’s grumbled protests.

  “Check her pulse and breathing every few minutes. I’ll be right back.” He handed Lila off to the two of them.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to check for any other survivors on board.” And kill them.

  He caught Marc’s arm. “Move everyone away from the ship, as far away as possible. Don’t let anyone else get on board. The way it’s burning, I wouldn’t be surprised if it explodes.”

  Without waiting for a response, Ash jogged back up the gangway. He searched the main deck from bow to stern, wishing he knew how many priests had boarded to begin with so that he could account for them all. There were three Darian bodies scattered around the hatch opening, and one priest near death, broken and badly burned, who Ash had to finish. He made himself climb back down into the hold, where he found three more dead. In the crew cabin, two of Strangward’s mages lay crumpled on the floor, sucked dry. That was it.

  There was no sign of the dragon, nor Strangward, Von, and the rest of his crew. They must have disembarked before the attack began. Where could they be? Where else would they go in Ardenscourt? He’d had the impression that the emissary didn’t mean to stray far from his ship.

  He recalled the conversation in the presence chamber, the expression on Strangward’s face when the king refused to make an immediate trade. Was it possible he’d decided to go after Jenna himself? If he had, would he know where to find her? Possibly. Somehow Strangward had known that Jenna had been found and had come to collect her. He must have an informant at court.

  The longer Ash thought about it, the more convinced he became that wherever Jenna was, that’s where he would find Strangward. And he needed to find them right now.

  Before Ash returned ashore, he took one more walk around the ship, lighting the slow fuses that Jenna had recommended. From what he could tell, Lila had done her job well. He hoped they would both survive long enough for him to tell her so.

  41

  FLAMECASTER

  The wall of the tower room shattered, sending shards of stone flying, all but burying Jenna. She struggled to free herself from the cairn of stones. Blood poured down into her eyes from a cut on her scalp so that she could scarcely see. When she finally staggered to her feet, the wind caught her, nearly toppling her, and needled her face with sleet and cold rain. Her arms and legs were still covered with armor-like scales.

  Every time I think things can’t get any worse, they do.

  She found herself standing on what remained of the tower—a platform littered with rubble. Everything above her head was gone, and only one wall remained of what had been her tower cell. She cowered against the wall, shivering, mingled blood and rainwater splattering on the stones under her feet. Had the tower been struck by lightning, or a typhoon, or what?

  At least the rain was putting out the fire.

  She heard another screaming cry, and a furious beating of wings. She looked up, just as an enormous beast stooped down on her, claws extended, its huge wings blocking out the sky. Instinctively, she crouched, so as to make a small target, closed her eyes, and covered her head with her arms, waiting for its razored claws to sink into her flesh.

  Instead, she heard a splash as it hit the deck next to her. She cracked her eyes open to see it skidding across the wet surface of the platform, flapping furiously to keep from sliding off the edge. It managed to stop at the far side, balancing on the edge. Once stable, it turned back toward her, straightening its crumpled wings.

  Then it came to her, what she was seeing. It was—it must be—the empress’s dragon. Ash must have managed to free it. And then it had come straight here to kill her. Scummer.

  It was about the size of a large horse, with huge feet and a massive head, like it wasn’t fully grown. It had large, golden eyes set on either side of its face, horns, and claws that left long gashes in the wood floor.

  Its back was armored with two rows of sharp spines, running from just behind its shoulders to the end of its tail, which was so long that it hung over the edge of the building. It seemed to grow larger and larger as it came toward her, flame and smoke fuming from its nostrils.

  I guess I can still find a way to burn to death, Jenna thought. But she was too dull-witted and dizzy to fight back. Or even to move.

  When it was within a few feet of her, it stopped and cocked its head. Flamecaster? The word sounded inside her head, a question mark at the end. Understanding flooded in. It was the voice she’d been hearing since the emissary’s arrival.

  I’m either dead or dreaming, she thought. But sometimes you just need to go on with it.

  “Flamecaster,” Jenna repeated. “Is that your name? Have you been looking for me?”

  It inched forward, head bowed, and bumped its nose timidly against her knee. She rested her clawlike hand on its head, feeling its hot breath on her bare toes, the scent of char and
flame mingling in her nose. She tried to remember what she’d heard about dragons, besides the fact that they are made up. Did they eat people?

  “I’m Jenna,” she said, as if it wouldn’t eat her once they were introduced.

  She could feel the push of the dragon’s mind, as if it were seeking an opening that it knew was there. Finally, something came through clearly. It was more an image in her mind than a word.

  Jenna.

  “That’s right!” she said. “You’re just a lýtling, aren’t you?” she murmured, scratching behind its horns. It nudged her like a cat, wanting more, but a dragon is not a cat. She ended up flat on her back, with the dragon looking down at her, all shamefaced, its golden eyes wide with alarm.

  Jenna hurt.

  “You don’t know your own strength, do you?” she said, forcing a smile to reassure it. She managed to sit up, resisting the temptation to close her eyes and let the rain fall on her face. She was shaking, teeth chattering, fighting off waves of dizziness.

  Help?

  At first, she thought he was asking for help, but then she realized that it was offering help.

  “I wish you could help,” she said, blotting at her eyes. “I dropped my berries and I can’t find them.” She knew she sounded like a loon, but she couldn’t seem to form a sentence that made sense.

  Berries? Flamecaster said eagerly. Want food?

  Jenna laughed, stroking the dragon’s head. She looked down at her own arms. Her scales were fading now that the fire was out, and her hands were losing their clawlike appearance. It was as if she armored up only when she needed that protection.

  All right, then, she thought. Tally up another gift, you bloodthirsty bastards.

  First it was fire, and now ice. She was freezing in the wind and sleet, clad only in her thin silk gown. Flamecaster’s body burned with a hot, dry heat that was just what she craved. Jenna pressed herself against him in an effort to warm herself. She could hear his heart beating, and hers began to beat in time.