The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (25 page)

"I hadn't anticipated this," he admitted.

"Well it's not like those fools could see fit to give us a bit of warning. And since causing the hold to move is nothing to them, why not do whatever they did to cause water that hasn't flowed in a hazel's age to start flooding the hold? If I could reach 'em, I'm telling you, I'd throttle 'em."

Martik didn't argue with Miss Mariss, partly because he agreed with her. Strom was his friend, but he wasn't sure what the smith had been thinking. The thought of trying to defend Durin was laughable.

"What do we do about it?" she asked after a long silence.

"We've got to get these channels clear. Have people gather up broom handles or anything else that is long and thin
 . . . and rags, we'll need rags."

Miss Mariss knew good sense when she heard it and was moving before he finished the sentence.

* * *

Growling and with her teeth bared, Catrin stood in the stirrups and held on to the pommel with one hand, her lance in the other. Never before had she armed herself with the intention of attacking for no other reason than to cause the destruction of her enemy. This fight, in particular, was not about protecting what she loved; it was about avenging what she'd lost. Kyrien writhed with furious and righteous intent, ready to throw his barely healed body back into the fray for the memory of his very race, his species, and his loved ones. Such passion and rage could not be contained by their physical bodies, and their fury raced before them like a brooding storm front, dark and foreboding and promising destruction. When they struck, it was an attack like nothing Godsland had ever seen. With the might of the saddle and lance and total reprieve from all rules and boundaries, Catrin focused and released their combined rage.

Spinning and flowing, energy leaped from Catrin's lance with a thunderous clap. Plasma burned and danced across the winding surface of the lance before rings of boiling light and air thrummed toward the remains of the demon army. The bulk of the ships waited in deep water, but a dozen or so were still anchored along the coast, waiting for their turn to load. Demons and men milled around in disorganized groups, and that was where Catrin's cones of destruction struck, tearing into the land and turning it inside out, launching everything into the air. At any other time, Catrin would have been appalled to see such destruction of the land, and surely she would never have conceived of having so much righteous rage. But fate had made it so, and Catrin vented her potent fury. Again and again, she pumped her fist, and her enemies were tossed like leaves in the wind. Great swaths of soil erupted, looking like bleeding wounds in the land. Kyrien brought them in low, and vengeance was Catrin's. Thrusting her energy before them, she tore trees from their roots and hurled them at the black army. There was no counterattack the army could launch, as Catrin literally threw the forest at them. The song of the dryads came to her loudly, and it contained a note of vengeance that salved Catrin's guilt over killing the trees. That was one of the problems with acting without thought: consequences.

On the horizon, sails climbed masts and ships moved slowly out to sea. Catrin let out a harsh and terrible laugh that rang through the valley before turning into a ululating battle cry. With grim satisfaction, Catrin changed tactics, looking for an attack that did not drain her so quickly. Rather than compress air, she evacuated it and asked the winds to part. She smiled as the vacuum reached the hold of a mighty ship before it imploded and brought the ship crashing in on itself. The sweat on her brow gave proof of the effort required for either attack. Always there was a price to be paid.

Ahead a group of ships gathered into the largest formation Catrin had seen, and as red light leaped and churned between them, they simultaneously left the water. Kyrien used his speed to come in behind the formation and hold at a short distance. With a sort of wicked of glee, Catrin constructed a series of latticework structures around the formation of ships, lifting them higher on the growing winds. Red lightning lashed out at her and Kyrien, but Catrin shrugged it off, barely feeling the sting. Eight ships were now joined together by Catrin's will alone; those aboard with power were concentrating on attacking Catrin and Kyrien with everything they had. Her howling rage made it clear that she had no intention of ceasing her attacks. Higher and higher the ships climbed, until the shouts and cries of those aboard trembled with panic. Still higher they moved, and a strong tailwind sent them hurtling toward the waiting armada. Soon anxious cries rang out across the water. In an instant, Catrin released the structures. What followed was the most terrible sound she had ever heard. They deserved it, she decided, every one of them.

Fully loaded ships dropped from the sky and landed on top of equally loaded ships, and even amid that chaos, attacks of fire, air, and lightning were launched against Catrin and Kyrien. Wood and metal struck wood and metal with thunderous force, and masts tore through hulls like knives at a feast. Screams filled the air, and final bolts of red lighting reached out for Catrin and Kyrien, some making their bite felt but not stopping the dragon and his rider.

Focusing on the remaining ships, Catrin imploded most and just blew holes in the sides of the rest as her fatigue threatened to overcome her.

Flying in behind a fleeing ship, Catrin swayed in the saddle and had no good angle for an attack but found she needed none as Kyrien came in low and grabbed the railing at the bow, their speed and inertia carrying them forward and bringing the ship with them, forcing its prow into the waves and eventually flipping the ship over forward.

When not a single ship remained, Catrin felt some sense of satisfaction, which soon turned to even greater anger. Though the men clung to flotsam or drowned, Catrin could see that the demons and giants simply swam away, like a dark current moving in the direction the ships had been headed. Unwilling to grant them this victory, Catrin attacked the seas themselves. Hurling balls of compressed air, she blasted away the water to leave the demons bare. Roaring, she sent them into the air then slammed them back down. Dark water rushed back in to fill the void, and none escaped Catrin's wrath.

Kyrien expressed nothing after the battle, but Catrin could feel the same sense of disappointment in him as she felt in herself. It hadn't helped. The vengeance had not eased her pain. But she did not regret it. This darkness had to be stopped, and if that was how she met her end, then she would die an honorable and worthwhile death. She reminded herself that she was a good-hearted person who would not willingly bring violence to those who did not deserve it. But she was cursed to know that some truly did deserve it, and for them, she would become the nightmare.

Chapter 2

Even the mighty can be laid low.

--Morif, soldier

* * *

"What did I just do?" Durin asked as deep booms rumbled and echoed through the keep, lower and different from anything that had come before. Standing within the circular room, he stared helplessly at the stone tile on which he stood; it was now depressed and activated, for good or ill.

"That one means water, silly," Trinda said. "I said to step on the mountains, not water."

"Water?" Brother Vaughn said as if to himself.

"Uh, so I suppose I should step on that one?" Durin asked, pointing at a carving similar to the one depicting water, only there was but a single set of wavy lines with sharper peaks.

Trinda gave him a look that said,
Duh!

Strom just shrugged.

Stretching to make the long step without slipping and stepping on the wrong tile, Durin jumped. When he landed, the tile sank down, and moments later a grinding noise sounded from directly above them. Dust and dirt fell around them, and the ceiling of the chamber suddenly retreated, revealing a gaping cylindrical chasm above them. Though it retained its circular shape and soared all the way up to open air, the shaft was far from clear. The debris of ages had gathered there, including vines that looked like tree branches. This would not have been so troubling if the floor of the chamber had not begun to rise at an alarming rate. Within the space of a breath, all opportunity for escape was gone. The doorway through which they had come disappeared below them.

Strom pulled Prios's still unconscious form away from the outer edge of the cylinder as sparks flew and bits of rock were blasted away. Above them the obstructions grew ever closer, and Durin could think of no way to save them. There seemed no way to make the floor stop rising. Durin moved to every tile to see if he could make it stop, but the rapid ascent continued unabated. He looked up at the rapidly approaching debris that would kill them, and Durin felt cold wash over him--the harsh realization that he was about to die. Trinda stood next to him, looking upward, and in that last moment, he felt sorry for her.

"Sorry," he said.

Trinda just stuck her tongue out at him then thrust her hands into the air, her eyes squeezed shut and her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. Above them, the air shimmered, and as the debris raced in to crush them, the translucent shield blasted through, sending an ever-increasing cloud of vines and stone racing before it as the walls of the cylinder were blasted clean.

Without warning, they began to slow, leaving a strange feeling in Durin's gut. Light erupted around them, and the air above was filled with soaring debris, much of which was caught by a swift crosswind and sent crashing down the side of the mountain. Bits and pieces fell around them, but most of the big pieces had been carried by the wind.

"You can put your arms down now," Durin said with a bit of sarcasm, but then he considered for a moment that Trinda had just saved him for the third time. Gusts of wind cast stinging sand into the air, but Durin could not avert his eyes from the sight. Only a low, jagged stone wall surrounded them; nothing obscured the view of the twin valleys below and all the way to the sea on all sides. Much of the scenery was marred by the presence of the demon armies and dragons resting on the heights.

Feeling exposed and knowing how vulnerable they were to dragons while standing on the top of this mighty peak, Durin whispered, "How do we get back down?"

Trinda just shrugged, "I don't know."

Looking at the tiles again, Durin saw that the one with mountainlike shapes carved on it had risen back into place and was level with the other tiles. Knowing that dragons might come investigate the commotion at any moment, Durin stepped back onto the tile with mountains carved on it, hoping it would take them back down and slowly at that. Nothing happened, and cold fear bloomed in his gut. Taking another look at the tiles, Durin saw a symbol that looked like fire, and there was one that looked like water, but he didn't think those were what they needed. He was just trying to figure out what the tile with a series of vertical lines meant when a dark shadow passed over them, sending more sand and dirt into the air.

Strom ran to the stone wall and looked down. After a moment, he drew a sharp intake of breath. Trinda crouched by the still form of Prios; the extent of his injuries was difficult to gauge. He'd nearly given his life to protect his son, and now his son was gone. Durin did what he could to stifle his worry and ran to where Strom stood. Looking down from the dizzying height stole Durin's breath.

Strom shouted, "Look out, Brother Vaughn!
Dragon!
"

Durin hadn't seen him at first, but then he saw the robed man running. He was both thankful that Brother Vaughn was alive and terrified that he wouldn't be for very much longer. Looking tiny at such a distance, the man who had been Sinjin's mentor, and thus also Durin's, stood nearly halfway across an expanse of open grass. There was no way he could move fast enough to get to the cover of the trees or back to the river. Sound carried well in the valley, and they saw Brother Vaughn look up. Durin could only imagine his puzzlement at hearing their voices from the top of the mountain. Then he saw the dragon and turned to run. Durin could see that he would not be fast enough, his death a near certainty. In desperation, Durin threw rocks at the swooping dragon, but the beast was far beyond his reach.

The thought of seeing Brother Vaughn taken made Durin nearly ill, but then he heard something that chilled his blood. Trinda sang. The dragon, fixated on its target, did not react at first, but the longer Trinda sang, the less intent the feral remained on Brother Vaughn. Durin realized that this might save Brother Vaughn, for which he was truly grateful, but he also realized that it made their own situation far more dangerous. The dragons would come. The sight of it was more terrifying than anything Durin had ever seen. Mottled black and gray feral dragons came from every direction. Knifing through the air with economy of motion and awe-inspiring speed, they nipped at each other, issuing deep, guttural growls that sounded like rolling drums, flying with what seemed pure aggression. With one last glance, he saw that Brother Vaughn was near halfway to the trees. Durin looked back up at Strom, who appeared as worried as he was.

Looking again at the carved flames, Durin realized that what he'd thought represented fire also resembled the formations of rock that hung down in the God's Eye. Stepping across, knowing there was no time for discussion, Durin's heart leaped when the stone started sinking beneath his weight, but it stopped sooner than the others had, and nothing happened. It was stuck. The dragons were near, and waves of primal fear washed over Durin and paralyzed him. Strom stepped closer, landing on a tile with a circle carved into it. Nothing happened. The stone Durin stood upon still didn't move, except as part of a tremor that seemed to shake the entire mountain. An instant later, Reaver peered over the jagged stones, his gleaming teeth dwarfing even Strom while promising a knife's edge. Hot breath buffeted them like storm winds, and the eyes of the enormous feral narrowed, seemingly more concerned with understanding how the humans had come to be at the top of a mountain he was guarding rather than looking for a meal, which to Durin was far more frightening. The beast looked as if it had been in a fight every day of its existence. One dark, back-turned horn was sheared off, leaving a jagged stump, and deep crevices ran across its face, making its scales look like a macabre mosaic. Jagged teeth lined a mouth that smelled of death, and Durin nearly retched. Black nostrils flared with each powerful breath, which knocked the shrubbery low and sent small stones tumbling into the valley below.

Nearby, Strom crouched and Prios stirred. Trinda sang. Durin reached out to grab her, but she stepped out of his grasp and closer to Reaver, a feat that Durin was unable to match; deep-seated and overpowering fear rooted his boots in stone. What looked him in the eye was the worst possible nightmare. Trinda took another step; then her pale and delicate hand landed on glossy black scales and deep scars. Reaver remained still for the briefest instant, but then he snorted and drew back his angular and monstrous head. The force of his breath sent Trinda stumbling backward right into Durin’s arms. Their combined weight on the jammed tile resulted in a loud snap. Reaver roared a deafening call filled with malice and intent, and the stone beneath Durin dropped.

* * *

The echoing call from above spurred Brother Vaughn to reckless speed. He'd known that trying to cover open ground would be risky, but dragons had been coming to drink at the river's edge, and it would only have been a matter of time until one of them had found him. As it was, he'd been cold and wet and not thinking clearly. Then the top of the mountain exploded. Brother Vaughn had looked up but saw little besides a cloud of debris and quickly continued his trek, knowing Reaver would come to investigate. Now he stood amid grasses not tall enough to hide him and Reaver bearing down on him. Breathing hard, he pushed his body for all the speed it could produce, knowing it would not be enough. The trees were too far away, and the shadow of the beast closed in behind him. It felt as if all was lost when a familiar and wordless tune rang through the valley like a seductive bell, and Brother Vaughn could only hope the dragon would be drawn away by the singing of the little girl. He could not figure out how she could have gotten to the top of the mountain, but that girl was turning out to be a worthy ally. The instant he had the thought, he regretted it as the realization came that Trinda was at the top of the mountain singing for the dragons.

Darkness rushed up on him, and driven by instinct, Brother Vaughn dived to the ground. An ill wind rustled his robes, and an enormous pair of claws tore trenches in the grass only a hand’s width from where Brother Vaughn now lay. Looking up, he saw Reaver extend his mighty wings and soar up to the top of the mountain, where he came to a crashing halt, his claws digging into the stone and his massive head peering down at Trinda.

Jumping up and down, Brother Vaughn tried to get Reaver's attention, but then he realized exactly what he was doing, and he started, once again, to run, hoping to make it to the trees before any other dragons saw him. Like in nightmares, the black devils arrived just as he thought of them, and he wasn't certain what he was seeing was real. The only thing that kept the horror from overcoming him was the fact that the dragons were not looking for him; they were looking for Trinda. That thought made him feel no better. Shouts and singing continued to echo from above, and he couldn't help but look up when he heard Reaver snort. A moment later it looked as if the top of the mountain had exploded again. Dust and debris filled the air. Reaver reared back and lunged at the top of the mountain three times as quickly as a striking snake but with stone-shattering force. With a frustrated and angry cry, Reaver leaped back into the air.

Brother Vaughn could only hope that Trinda had found some way to escape. At that moment, though, all he could do was run.

To his astonishment, the world above him erupted again only moments later, and Godsland trembled.

* * *

Catrin and Kyrien rested in the Terhilian Keys for only one night, and she worried over his fitness for battle. His wounds had healed with her assistance, but still she worried.

I am designed for flight, and I can rest while flying. Granted, it is easier to rest on the ground or in water, but I am well rested nonetheless.

His annoyance at her worrying over his well-being was clear, but she could not help it. She cared about him deeply, and their fates were forever bound together. In many ways their desires and intentions had become one, as had their guilt. It was something that only the two of them could share, as no one else alive could claim the guilt of having caused the loss of an entire species. Kyrien's guilt was all the worse since it was his species, but Catrin's pain was as close as anyone alive could get. There had been time for thought and deep reflection, for tears and rage. There had been time to see changes in herself that could not be undone.

As the Godfist materialized from the rising mists, a sick feeling crowded Catrin's gut, and she could feel Kyrien's apprehension as well, but that anxiety soon fanned the banked coals of her anger. This was her homeland, and she would purge it of these wretched devils. Her son was gone, and she wanted to scream. She had let him down when he’d needed her. She had abandoned him for an unsuccessful quest to save the dragons, and now she had lost them both. Miserable over her failure, the pain of it nearly made her burst. Only the presence of her husband's spirit and those of loved ones still shining from within the hold, waiting for her to save them from this menace, gave her strength and hope.

Black ships at the northern harbor came into view first. They would receive no warning and be afforded no mercy. These invaders of her homeland would pay for their arrogance, and Kyrien soared low over the waves, aiming for the ships. A rumbling echo reached them, and a dark cloud rose up from an inland mountain peak. Her uncertainty of the cause became secondary to the realization that the air around that peak was now filled with feral dragons. All of them were in one spot.

It took the sum of her will to resist attacking the ships but she managed. Soaring in low, Kyrien wound through the twisting valleys; Catrin held on and tried to anticipate his next shift based on the approaching terrain. Together they found a rhythm and moved almost as one. Cries occasionally rose up from beneath them, but no warning bells or other alarms rang out, and Catrin watched for signs of trouble. Black armies crowded the valleys, but they were marching out in orderly retreat, leaving behind an obliterated valley. What had been a thriving community was now little more than ash and stone and mud.