Dragonhold (Book 2) (18 page)

Much of the way they walked was a common thoroughfare, a major hall leading back to areas of the keep that had been inhabited for much longer. The stump of an old torch still resting in the sconce was just what he'd been searching for. "A moment," he said.

Catrin stopped, turned, and waited without much patience. Pelivor leaped up to the sconce and grabbed the butt of the old torch. Using the blackened charcoal, he scratched a crude message onto the floor. He didn't get much more than their initials and the words
will return
written on the stones of the roadway before the rest of the torch completely disintegrated. It would have to be enough.

Soon Catrin turned from the main thoroughfare, going out of her way to avoid contact with anyone else. Most of the tunnels they now strode were seldom used. It was a good thing; Catrin's pack reeked of that dreadful blanket.

When they arrived in a circular chamber, its floor divided into symmetrical tiles, each bearing a pictograph, Pelivor's stomach grew cold. This chamber had been used successfully to turn on the water within the hold and also to travel to the mountaintop, a trip that would currently be suicidal by Pelivor's estimation. Though each time had recovered utility from the long past, both had come with a price, and Pelivor wondered what this would cost them.

Catrin gave Pelivor no chance to second-guess; grabbing his hand, she pulled him onto a tile bearing a series of rectangles, each surrounded by four circles. Not quite ready and pulled off balance, he took a hesitant step and stumbled into her, forcing her back as his foot hit the tile she occupied. A low grinding noise followed after she inadvertently depressed the wrong tile, this one having three thick vertical bars intersected by a wavy horizontal line.

Having no idea what this represented, Pelivor closed his eyes and held his breath. Nothing else happened. "Sorry," he said.

"It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have pulled you like that. I don't know what I was thinking."

Both silently acknowledged their luck. Catrin joined him then smiled, shrugged, and exerted greater force on the stone tile upon which they stood. At first it only wiggled, but then Pelivor took her hand and synchronized their movements. Without warning, the tile dropped, leaving both waving their arms, trying to keep their balance. The movement started slowly, almost imperceptibly, but increased until soon they were falling at a rate that had Pelivor's insides tingling. Catrin's grip on his hand tightened.

After plunging into unknown depths, the circular stone floor slowed, pressing up into their boots. From her pocket Catrin pulled a herald globe and used Koe to give it an extra charge. It revealed a foreign landscape unlike anything else within Dragonhold. Above were sweeping lines, right angles, and stonework straight from the hands of masters. Below, the stone resembled the work of giants armed with enormous hammers. Even the smallest facet in the stone face was taller than Catrin and Pelivor standing on top of one another.

A strange sound filled the hall. Not hesitating, Catrin stepped onto roughhewn black stone.

Pelivor followed with trepidation. "What is this place?"

Four cylindrical rails lined the halls. Two were suspended from either wall, one dominated the center of the floor and another hung from the ceiling. Whistling and a rush of air were all the warning they received before a projectile of metal, wood, leather, and glass soared through the room.

"What was that?" Pelivor asked.

Catrin walked to a series of black metal levers set into the wall. "That was our ride."

"You're not planning to get into one of those things, are you?" Pelivor asked.

"There's no other way," Catrin said. "I've no idea exactly how far we need to travel or if we'll use up the precious little energy Koe has stored. So far beneath the land, the air is completely devoid of Istra's power; I know you can feel it. We must conserve. And as you can also see, the mine cars travel in ways we would never be able to accomplish."

Pelivor sighed and watched Catrin. The way she operated this foreign device's controls, as if she knew them, made him suspect Mael had imparted this information--and more, which worried him. Despite his concerns, the mine car slowed and stopped right in front of them. Catrin immediately climbed aboard, but Pelivor took a few more moments to inspect the car to make sure there was nothing that had rotted over the ages. It was a testament to the ancients' construction skills that any of this worked at all. Albeit under a patina of age, the mine car was in near pristine condition, making Pelivor wonder what other marvels the ancients had accomplished.

The mine car itself was remarkable. Pelivor would have expected something suitable for carrying ore, but this car was designed to transport people rather than cargo. Two seats, side by side, filled the bottom of the car. A series of controls near the front bore indecipherable labels, and a glowing amber lamp shed light on what lay ahead. Pelivor cleared dust and grime from the lens, allowing them to see more.

"Let's go," Catrin said.

Having inspected the car to the best of his ability and really having no way to address any of the things he found questionable, Pelivor resigned himself and climbed aboard.

"If I'm right," Catrin said, "we're just taking a short service loop to pick up speed."

"And if you’re wrong?"

Catrin shrugged. "Hold on."

There was no more time for misgivings. Sliding the controls forward, Catrin sent the car gliding along the rails. The metal structures supporting them bore a glossy sheen. Pelivor did not know how long the cars had been running. It was possible they had operated continuously over the eons, but it seemed far more likely that recent events within Dragonhold had reactivated them.

No matter how long it had been, using the cars was far from safe. The speed alone was dizzying. Halls barely wide enough to allow for the car and rails led to a steep downward slope. Soon they dived through an expansive cavern with many rails suspended from cables. The cylindrical shafts, supported by metal structures, rarely intersected. Where they did, the rails appeared designed to allow the car to switch tracks. Rather than coming together at right angles, the tracks merged smoothly then separated with equal grace.

Dust and detritus of ages coated some rails. Upon seeing those, Pelivor made the mistake of looking down. There, at the bottom of a deep pit, Catrin's overbright herald globe shone on dented and destroyed cars launched from no-longer-complete spans. Certain his screams could be heard all the way back in the main hold, Pelivor watched in despair as they crossed over broken tracks and launched into an upward arc. When the tracks continued, he tried to catch his breath.

Shiny rails indicated the track was whole the entire way around, but Pelivor could not be certain. When the controls and the circular shaft reappeared, he knew Catrin had been right. Still, that did nothing to ease his anxiety since he'd seen no place appropriate for them to disembark. The pitch of his screams rose even higher when Catrin threw one of the levers forward. A loud clang reverberated through the halls, setting Pelivor's teeth on edge. A junction raced toward them, smooth and clean on one side, dusty and unused on the other. The smooth side would get them nowhere. Despite the graceful appearance of the transition, the car slammed left and vibrated over disused rails.

Still whisking along the track, the mine car sent dust, grime, and refuse of ages flying. Bits of wood that may have once supported the tunnels and rusted metal hung in the shaft before them. It was everything Catrin and Pelivor could do to keep their heads down and avoid decapitation.

"Get ready to jump!" Catrin shouted.

Had she given Pelivor the opportunity to protest, he would have, but life was moving at high speed, and there would be consequences. He was certain. There was no way to know just how much longer there ride would last until Catrin drew a sharp breath. She stood and leaped, grabbing his shirt collar as she went. Unable to stand in time, Pelivor was yanked bodily from the car by Catrin's grip alone, and he thought she might have broken his collarbone. Screaming, the two landed on a pile of unforgiving rock. This was, however, far preferable to the fate of their mine car. Pelivor now had a full view, and he was thankful for Catrin's quick reflexes. If only she hadn't gotten them into this in the first place.

A short distance ahead of the doomed mine car, the tracks ended in a pile of rocks where the tunnel had long ago collapsed. Whistling and screaming, the car collided with the rocks at near full speed, sending sparks and a thunderous boom into the air. Pelivor would have despaired if not for delicate beams of sunlight piercing the darkness.

Chapter 17

Beware the dreamers, for they know not their own weakness and are therefore not limited by it.

--Osbourne Macano, glassblower

* * *

"He's going to need a thrustmaster, sir."

Benjin Hawk smiled at the young man who had grown up before his eyes. Jessub Tillerman was a man of his word, and Benjin truly had no hold over him. Nonetheless, Jessub asked permission to join Kenward Trell's crew. Doing so would endanger the young man's life, but who was he to say no? "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I always said I was going to be an adventurer," Jessub said, his grin contagious.

"Indeed you did, my boy. Indeed you did. I must admit, you've perhaps not chosen the safest career path," Benjin said, getting a chuckle from Jessub. "But I'll support you in whatever you decide."

"Thank you, sir."

"But don't think I'm going to tell my wife on your behalf. Or that I'm going to tell her this was my idea. That, my friend, is on you."

The young man blanched, proving he had good sense, in spite of his choice of ship. "Yes, sir."

Benjin chuckled and patted the boy on the shoulder. Something seemed to be irritating his eyes; he kept rubbing at them but would admit nothing. Jessub cast him a sideways glance but also remained silent. Gwen and Fasha stood nearby, talking, which would make the conversation even more difficult for Jessub, but that was not his problem. If this boy thought he could survive the
Portly Dragon
, then he would have to brave Benjin's wife and daughter first.

Of course, it could be said that taking advice on women from Benjin Hawk was a bad idea. And once again the two people he thought he knew best surprised him. There were no stern words or reprimands; instead tears of joy and sorrow mixed on his shoulders. Jessub Tillerman was a brave man. It went neither unnoticed nor unrewarded.

"Come on, young man," Benjin said after the girls had finished falling all over Jessub. "Grab your things and let's go talk to your new captain."

The
Portly Dragon
sat in dry dock, looking much like the barge she was designed after. Kenward Trell watched them approach with a crooked smirk.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Jessub asked.

Kenward grinned like a fool at the sight of the bag slung across the young man's shoulder. "I would never have asked you to come."

Benjin nodded in acknowledgment of his statement, knowing it was partly intended for him. Out of respect, Kenward Trell had not sought anyone from the
Dragon's Wing
.

The good captain could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. "Having a thrustmaster aboard, even a novice, will greatly increase our chances of success."

Benjin wore a sad smile. "Take good care of him. The boy's been getting under my feet for so long, he's like family." Jessub flushed and could not meet his eyes.

"He is just as fine and strong a young man as I've ever seen," Kenward said, coming to the aid of the boy's ego. "I'm certain will get along very well."

"I'll say one last thing, Kenward. I don't expect Martik would take kindly to you putting his only born son in the drink."

And with those words, Benjin released responsibility for one he considered his own. It was a difficult parting, and he worried about Jessub's future and safety, but he'd done everything in his power to train the boy, as had Martik, Fasha, Gwen and others. There was nothing more they could do.

Before Benjin left the
Portly Dragon
's deck, he couldn't help but notice tanks attached to the sides of the howler and bumblebee. Not to mention the long stalk weed sections he'd seen them hollowing out, which were now connected to those very tanks. Shaking his head, Benjin Hawk stepped back onto dry land, silently wishing those aboard luck.

A crowd gathered to see the
Portly Dragon
off on its true maiden voyage. With air and sea trials behind, leaks had been fixed, adjustments made, and provisions loaded. The strange ship left the ground slowly. Daylight streamed between the ship and the dry-dock footings for a mere instant before it came slamming back down. Twice more they bounced, black smoke and steam billowing from the boiler house. Gusting winds pulled at the windsocks. Even when the airship cleared the dry dock, one corner dragged along the sand, sending the ship twisting onto the wind.

But then the
Portly Dragon
found its wings and flew. Valterius and Gerhonda soared in close, their riders latching on to ropes attached to the ship's corners to lend stability.

"Thrust, Jessub!" Kenward shouted as the rocks drifted closer. "We need more thrust!"

Jessub straightened his back and applied the full force of his will. A charge built up until lightning pulsed within the thrust tubes. Despite the disconcerting sight, the
Portly Dragon
moved through the air, howling as she went. An escort of regal dragons stayed nearby--just in case.

* * *

Replacing Pelivor hadn't been easy. His departure had truly left a hole in Nora Trell's crew--not that she would ever admit it to him. In every way she wished him well, and a sad part of her admitted she'd never found his match. Emmon was a capable boy; he just lacked spark. It was a pity. He'd come from a trusted family who'd long sought a share in the
Trader's Wind
. The boy did everything asked of him without complaint, but he had not the will to learn on his own. It had been the primary thing that had set Pelivor apart; the spark burned brightly in that one.

Emmon would serve as first mate in Pelivor's lingering shadow. It would suffice. There were other purposes, however, for which her needs were very different. The young man was far more at home on land, and Nora was getting a better sense of him as a result. Part of her wanted to keep him ignorant in the event he jumped ship. Another part knew no one would ever believe him. In the end, she decided to see how he handled a small amount of knowledge. The first insight was that Nora feared stairs. More than two or three steps seemed like asking for trouble. Going up was perhaps not as bad, under the right conditions, but coming down would allow the boy to see. Letting others see her weaknesses wasn't something Nora was accustomed to doing, but she thought there might be a thing or two she could learn from that fool son of hers--not that she would ever admit it to him. The boy convinced his crew to take the most incredible risks, and they obeyed not out of fear or even simple respect. His crew believed in him. It was a remarkable feat considering what he asked of them.

When they reached the stair, Emmon looked confused, clearly sensing Nora's unease. The boy certainly could read her.

"Go up a couple steps and wait."

Showing his better sense, Emmon nodded and did as he was told. Reaching out with his hand, he put his arm where she could grab it if needed. What the boy lacked in spark, he made up for in the oddest ways. Perhaps, over time, others would fight to get out of his shadow. Pelivor had been young and ignorant once too, and no doubt innocent. Nora reminded herself to judge the boy fairly. It just wasn't always easy.

An orange glow emanated from heavily occluded glass windows. A fire burned within. Struggling with the old, stubborn lock, Emmon quickly became frustrated. He must have wanted to be inside as much on her behalf as his since the stairs seemed to bother him not at all. Nora remained calm and closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the door opening.

"I thought I heard someone out here scrabbling," Gregorric of Dorn said. "Come in. Come in."

Hearing the man's voice instantly put Nora at ease, though she most certainly did not look down. The line of Dorn had long been a vital trade partner for the Trells, and once inside, his house was no longer terrifying--at least on the first floor. Winding stairs led to upper chambers Nora remembered as a child but no longer cared to see.

"How's Fasha?" Gregorric asked, as he always did. Nora smiled. "How's Kenward?" he asked with a wry grin, as he always did. Nora shook her head. "What are you going to do with that boy?"

She shrugged. Emmon watched the exchange with a mixture of awe and confusion.

"What are you up to?"

She grinned. "You don't really think I'm going to tell you, now do you?"

"It would be nice. I have to tell their families something."

"I've told you," Nora said. "I'm interviewing potential candidates to be my new first mate."

After choking, Emmon tried to be very small if not invisible.

"So you did," Gregorric said. "And yet, you had some pretty specific criteria that raise reasonable questions."

"Does it raise the question of the first mate's potential share?"

"It does," the man conceded.

Nora nodded as if this were enough explanation.

"Come in here, girl," Gregorric said. "I know you're listening."

When a girl of perhaps nineteen summers emerged from the next room, dressed in sturdy traveling pants and a snug wool top, Nora thought she might lose Emmon. Smacking him on the back of the head, she said, "Stop gaping. You look like a fish."

"This is Gret. Gret, this is Nora and that's Emmon, but then you already knew that, didn't you?"

The girl flushed and averted her eyes. Emmon looked as if he might defend her. "Sit still," Nora whispered in his ear. Turning deep red, his ears looked as if they were on fire. "Hello, Gret. I'm Captain Trell. You may call me Captain Trell."

"Yes, ma'am," the girl said.

Nora gave her a look she saved for the truly daft.

"I mean, yes, Captain Trell."

"You sure about this one?" Nora asked Gregorric. Now the girl flushed as deeply as Emmon, just as she'd intended. "Emmon, take Gret outside. We'll meet you in the street."

He held out his arm and escorted Gret outside.

"You're a devious, evil woman, manipulating them already."

"I have to start at some point," Nora said with a grin. "The boy hasn't a chance, but I gave him an edge. Maybe it'll make him feel like he's got a shot. Sometimes that's all it takes."

Gregorric just shook his head. "Shall I help you down the stairs, m'lady?"

Nora accepted with a nod. Asking for help was difficult. Gregorric of Dorn was an old friend, and that made it perhaps a little easier. He was wise enough never to use it against her; except perhaps by living in a place surrounded by lethal staircases. By the time they reached the streets, it was clear Emmon and Gret were uncomfortable.

"Come on, you two," Nora said. "We need to go find some place out in the open."

"What kind of place?" Gregorric asked.

"Someplace where there's nothing anyone might miss if it falls down."

Her old friend shook his head and laughed. "Go that way," he said, pointing toward the bay.

Emmon and Gret exchanged a glance. She quickly looked away as if annoyed.

"Let's go," Nora said. "Now you two hold hands." All three looked at her as if she were perhaps the cruelest person of all, and Nora Trell laughed. "Just kidding."

"And people wonder where your son gets it," Gregorric said.

Nora just made a gesture some might consider rude and headed inland, ignoring his advice and her yearning for the sea.

* * *

With Istra's energy caressing his skin, Pelivor reveled in the feeling, the pain of his bruised collar bone the only distraction. "How'd you know?"

"Mael did not tell me; he showed me," Catrin said.

The thought of the old sorcerer in Catrin's mind gave Pelivor the crawls, and he dared not think what else the dragon had showed his friend. He knew why she held her silence. He wanted answers nonetheless. The forsaken blanket smelled even worse when exposed to sunlight, which didn't help. Catrin wore it over her shoulders, letting it block out most but not all of Istra's light.

When a dragon appeared on the horizon and steadily grew larger, Pelivor was not surprised. Catrin's calm demeanor confirmed his suspicion Kyrien would come for them. Riding a regent dragon with the Herald of Istra was not something many people got to do in their lives, and Pelivor couldn't help but take note of the interesting and challenging times in which he lived.

Dropping from the sky and slamming into the ground with thunderous force, his hide crisscrossed with scars, Kyrien presented an imposing figure. Clear eyes spoke of intelligence, and they focused on Catrin and Pelivor. It was the kind of thing one might never get used to. After a trumpeting call, Kyrien extended his wing and allowed them to climb aboard his back, where a leather saddle awaited.

"Double-check your straps," Catrin said.

Pelivor had done little else since getting strapped in. Despite knowing he could easily float to the ground using Istra's power, he had no interest in flying loose in the middle of a dragon fight. Given where they were going, a warm welcome was unlikely.

"You don't have to go, you know."

"I know," Pelivor said. "You'll just have to forgive me for coming anyway."