Dragonhold (Book 2) (5 page)

"Lady Catrin's going to explore the hold," a young man said.

That wasn't news to Kenward and did little to explain why people jammed the halls. "Why the crowd?" Kenward asked, hoping not to offend by asking the wrong question.

"People loyal to Catrin began to talk, and we decided we want to help. Turns out, there are a lot of us."

"We have important news for Lady Catrin," Kenward said. Half expecting to be snubbed, he was surprised and a little embarrassed when the young man began shouting the Herald's friends needed to come through. The deeper they moved, the more necessary the shouts became. Bodies crowded the constricting halls, the din consuming all but the loudest cries. Trapped amid a mass of humanity, Kenward had never felt so confined and thought he might suffocate.

"Easy there, friend," Thundegar said. "Make some room! Give this man some space!"

Packed against those around them, people did what they could to give Kenward room. In a way, it almost made the feeling worse. Guards wearing uniforms with Trinda's insignia guided the two men to where Catrin stood atop a stack of crates, tears in her eyes. The sight left Kenward breathless. He truly loved her in spite of all the pain their relationship had caused him. She'd always done her best to save those around her and even those who opposed her. He knew she'd never felt like a true ruler within Dragonhold, but this gathering was a clear majority and showed the people chose her as their leader.

When Kenward and Thundegar made their way to where Catrin stood, bereft of words, she shook her head,and tears fell to the stone floor
.
Her father moved to her side and put his arm around her. "Thank you all," Catrin finally said in a voice thick with emotion. A great roar traveled through the halls, rivaling that of the dragons.

When the roar died down enough for Kenward to be heard, he shouted, "Catrin! The
Dragon's Wing
will surely be destroyed if you don't come quickly!" He had her full attention.

"I need to get to the Great Hall," Catrin said in a tone that set people instantly moving. Kenward had never seen anything to match the way the people responded to Catrin's words. Wendel Volker marched ahead of Catrin, barking at anyone who got in their way. The tunnels that had nearly cost him his sanity coming in cleared so fast, they strode through at a quick walk.

"We're going to need coal," Kenward said, "and buckets to satisfy Allette. They want the wood from the
Serpent
."

"For what?" Catrin asked, sounding offended on his behalf.

"Allette and Onin are going to attack one of the spires," Kenward said.

Looking shocked, Catrin grabbed his arm and dragged him forward at a half run. He would've said something about buckets and coal had she given him the chance. Within the Great Hall, the feral queen glared at the
Dragon's Wing
with impatient eyes. Her head snapped in their direction when Catrin entered. With Thundegar, Kenward had a chance of passing peacefully, approaching with Catrin he'd likely wind up dead, and he questioned the wisdom of going any farther.

"Stop," Catrin said, her voice echoing within the hall. "I wish to speak with Allette."

The feral queen coiled herself before Catrin, ready to strike, but the Herald showed no fear. Kenward admired her. Without Istra's light, she was less powerful than he, in many ways. Yet she stood before death itself and chastised it.

Allette appeared from behind her dragon. "Do not stand in my way, Catrin Volker."

"We've no idea what effect destroying one of the spires would have," Catrin said. "Give us some time to learn more of how the Fifth Magic works, and we may find a better way."

"Your dragon may be able to live on fish and mushrooms," Allette said, glancing up at the feral queen. "Unless you have a herd of cattle hidden away, we either escape soon or die."

Jehregard and the feral queen both reacted to the sound of another dragon entering the hall. Kyrien's movements spoke of agitation and aggression. Jehregard issued a whine that ended with a trumpeting roar.

"Has the time come so soon?" Allette asked Catrin. "Shall we kill each other now?"

Those words were a clear invitation to leave, Kenward thought, and he took a step backward. Before he could turn and run, the feral queen edged into the space between him and the kitchens. Rising up to her full height, she hissed and flapped her wings, buffeting him with wind. Kyrien issued a warning growl that pulled the feral queen's attention away from Kenward, though she still blocked his path. Shouts echoed from behind the dragon, and Kenward worried the people of Dragonhold might attack the feral queen in their fervor, which would surely end in a massacre.

"Stop this at once!" Onin demanded, and Jehregard trumpeted his displeasure. Though normally docile, verdant dragons could be fierce when circumstances called for it. Kenward had seen them fight in the Jaga War.

"I don't wish to kill you," Catrin said slowly. Allette held her ground and said nothing. "I just want you to wait before attacking the spire. Damaging the Fifth Magic could be worse than leaving it as is. I doubt it can be defeated through brute force. Give me three days . . . please."

"No," Allette said. "I'm sorry but I cannot do what you ask. You, of course, understand."

Kenward could not imagine what passed between the two women, having experienced each other's lives and knowing the other's secrets. He shivered at the thought. If either had access to Istra's power at that moment, Kenward suspected lightning would be flying. As it was, all three dragons appeared ready for a fight.

In the end, Catrin nodded. "Help us preserve the
Dragon's Wing
, and I won't stand in your way."

"If the ship can be moved quickly, then let it be done. If not, it'll fly one last time."

Once the feral queen stood down and moved well clear of the halls, people poured in. Word spread regarding what was needed. Catrin ordered buckets filled with coal and delivered to Allette despite her misgivings. The Black Queen accepted the gifts and waited impatiently for Martik, Benjin, Wendel and a handful of others while they figured out how to move and preserve the heavy vessel. The conversation was heated, and Kenward decided he didn't feel strongly enough about it to interject.

"We've a lot of straw," a young man said. The boy looked at the ground when no one responded. Men with louder voices talked right over him.

"Straw," Kenward said loudly, and the boy's eyes went wide. "This young man says you have a large supply of straw."

Martik turned and blinked at Kenward a moment, his thoughts almost visible on his face. "Get it up here as fast as you can. We need people to start clearing the debris from this side."

Kenward flinched at the word
debris.

"We need the longest and strongest poles you can find to support this side," Martik continued, not even noticing the dirty look the captain of the
Serpent
gave him. Kenward tried a little harder.

"Don't forget you've got dragons at your disposal," Thundegar said.

Martik took a moment to consider. Kenward imagined many of the things Martik had done would have been made easier with a dragon's assistance. The man surprised him, though, when he said, "All the same, I think we'll do it ourselves. I don't know that I could communicate well enough with a dragon to keep anyone from getting hurt. It'll take us a half a day, but we'll get it done."

Allette grimaced at the prospect of waiting, but she was getting the coal and buckets she'd requested. For the moment, it had to be enough. The people of Dragonhold rallied around the common purpose, looking as if they might complete the task in far less time than Martik had predicted. A wise man always overestimated the difficulty of a task, and Martik Tillerman was a very wise man.

Chapter 5

Nothing belongs to anyone.

--Sevellon, thief

* * *

The Godfist had never been an easy place to live. The years following Istra's return had made it even more difficult. Anyone who saw Sevellon looked at him with distrust, not because they knew he was a thief, but because they trusted no one. Complacency was a thief's best friend. Here, though, the people had already lost much. This was why Sevellon chose not to go anywhere near the Masterhouse or Lowerton, but instead to the outskirts, where much of what had been destroyed had never been rebuilt. Many had died here. What most would see as modern ruins represented opportunity for the thief. Such places often held some small treasure if you knew where and how to look.

The cover of darkness was another tool he'd learned to use well, and preserving his night vision was a skill he'd finely tuned over many years. Still, avoiding frequent patrols sent out from the Masterhouse and remaining watchful for dragons, demons, gray soldiers, and giants proved difficult. Outsiders were not welcome here; that was something Sevellon understood, and he had no good way to explain his presence. Lying came naturally to him, though. In the event he was captured, he had a number of tales prepared. He hoped to play on their sympathies since trust was unlikely.

Guilt was not an emotion a thief could afford, and once again he suppressed it.

The metallic click of harness announced another patrol's imminent arrival. Sevellon crouched down behind an old chimney. Much of the place had burned, but charred floor slats remained. Part of being a good thief was knowing what things were valuable, what things you can manage to get away with, and where most people hide the things they cherish above all others. Remaining still, Sevellon relied on the fact that these patrols had found nothing lately, based on their idle conversation. These people were bored. Understanding human nature was another tool Sevellon relied on heavily. But one thing he had very little control over, much less understanding of, were animals.

Perhaps these beasts could sense him in ways humans could not, or perhaps it was simply the smell of him. It mattered little since the end result was the same. Two of the patrol's horses spooked. Sevellon could not see the whites of their eyes from where he hid, but the way their hooves pounded against cobbled stone spoke of fear. Next came the sound of boots. His muscles tensed and his heart raced.

"Probably nothing," one man said.

Sevellon was already moving, half walking, half running straight back from the chimney that had hidden him. Near the crumbling remains of a barn, he broke into a full run. If not for the torches the patrol carried ruining their night vision, they might have seen him. And if not for the horses' continued fussing, they might have heard him, but Sevellon had the thief's luck. Soon, having found nothing around the dilapidated house, the patrol moved on. Beneath the light cast by the moon and twinkling comets, Sevellon went back to pull the strongbox from its charred resting place. A strongbox was only as good as its lock, and Sevellon was confident. He'd not only opened better quality locks than those available on the Godfist, he'd
made
better during his time as a locksmith.

In the end, he was wrong. While this lock was poor quality in comparison to his own work, the softer metals used had melted and fused during the fire, making the lock far more secure. With the right tools and a bit of time, he could have opened the box, but it might as well have been sealed with magic in his current circumstances. After restoring the slats to order, Sevellon moved on. The closer to the harbor he went, the closer to inhabited structures he came. Old instincts and heightened senses rose from years of training. Here, at least, he might find what he needed.

Few dared to trade with the Godfist these days, and even the fishing ships rested, dormant, in the harbor. The thief needed a way off this forsaken rock, and that would require gold. At the moment, he had neither ship nor gold, and the odds of his surviving the winter continued to drop.

Moving into the shadows between two buildings, both of which appeared to be occupied, Sevellon froze. Patrols approached from two different directions, showing the Godfist remained in a state of alert. Times of tension, war, and distrust were among the least productive for thieves. An old friend had once taught him that war raised the stakes and provided even greater wealth for those willing to risk their lives. That same friend had gotten greedy. It was the type of lesson Sevellon wished he'd learned some other way.

The silhouette of a familiar ship crept through the harbor, close to the shoreline, its lighting kept low. In general, one did not question the thief's luck. In this case, however, Sevellon was uncertain whether he should be relieved or terrified. He knew from experience this ship would run under complete darkness if not for the rocks along the shoreline. The
Nightfist
was a mercenary ship and not one Sevellon had ever hoped to see again. His time aboard had been brief, which had been the best part about it. Kenward Trell had sometimes dealt with those perhaps best avoided, but the thief did not question the life of the pirate. Perhaps, if he was lucky, the
Nightfist
's crew would remember him as a pirate and not the man who had lightened their purses.

Go
. His instincts warned.
Run
.

* * *

Kenward oversaw the placement of the planks he and his crew had cut not so long ago. Then they had been building a ship that would be the first of its kind; now they were burning the remains of that same ship. There was the chance this would return to them their freedom and get Kenward out of this tomb, which would make it all worthwhile.

When the boiler and pressure tanks from the ship had been lowered, Kenward wasn't certain what to think. Those would be the most expensive and difficult parts to re-create but new designs would also provide better performance. From atop her dragon, Allette directed the placement of the tanks and boiler, and she dictated they be filled with water. When she ordered all the pipes sealed, he immediately remembered the warnings the ancient writings had about pressure release valves. He wasn't certain how long it would take, but he vowed to get well clear of the area once the fire was lit.

It had been Martik who suggested using some old, moldy barrels to store water atop the boiler and tanks. Kenward wasn't certain he understood the exact principles but suspected it would result in a spectacular display; all the more reason to get clear. There wasn't much room to maneuver within the domelike shield. The dragons had far more difficulty staying clear of the plasma barrier. Some places could hold multiple dragons, while others were barely wide enough to allow passage. Jehregard had settled into one of the larger cavities, which put him close enough to exert force on the spire with his enormous head. The feral queen moved more nimbly, which allowed Allette to survey the pyre's construction from multiple perspectives. For her sake and his own, Kenward hoped it worked.

Catrin had left, gone in search of another way out, and Kenward wished her luck as well. He didn't care who found a solution, as long as someone did. The
Dragon's Wing
was safely dry-docked, and thanks to the ingenuity, strength, and tenacity of the people of Dragonhold, the ship was even pointing in the right direction. Kenward wasn't certain such a takeoff would be possible for the heavier, more traditional and seaworthy ship. This was where his design had so many advantages. His mind whirled with possibilities.

Leftover straw mixed with coal was poured into every crack and crevice of the wood pile resting at the spire's base. Already the feral queen had attacked the spire with tooth and claw, showing just how devastating those weapons were, but the barrier pelted her with lightning. Every bit of rock she tore away came with a price, and even the feral queen could not endure such punishment for long.

Having done his best to oversee the placement of the timbers, Kenward hoped it was all worth it. If this didn't work, he might throw himself into the plasma barrier in frustration. His mother had warned him about such thoughts. Better to clear his head during the difficult and time-consuming climb back to the keep. Looking down on him, even Trinda watched the spectacle. Climbing the obliterated stair, his arms grew tired and sore. Ropes hung down over missing sections of stair, challenging his endurance. Somehow he found the strength, though his arms trembled.

The order to light the fire was given long before he reached Dragonhold. Smoke and heat grew worse as he climbed. By the time he gained the entrance, smoke filled the valley, obscuring all except an orange glow where the flames were highest. Swirling winds created wandering vortices of ash floating around them. Trinda coughed and looked over to Kenward, who was still catching his breath. She rolled her eyes as if believing there was no chance this would work. He wondered at the expressiveness of her face. The ability to communicate without words was a valuable skill, and he respected those who did it well. Still, her attitude annoyed him. Why would she hope for this to fail? Was it because it hadn't been her idea? Had Kenward wanted her support, he would have tried to make Trinda believe it was her idea, but it was not her support he needed. Trinda's power within Dragonhold continued to dwindle.

People filtered in and Kenward did what he could to help people make the last of the climb. He remembered how tired he'd been, and these folks had worked longer and harder. No one left afterward. They all stayed behind to witness events for themselves. They had been a part of this and were not ready to walk away. Kenward couldn't blame them.

Trinda, on the other hand, looked as if she were being punished. The ash stained her white dress and collected in her hair. A carpet of it danced across the stone, constantly shifting and moving in the wind, and it dirtied her shoes as well. "How much longer is this going to take?" she asked.

Kenward just shrugged in response. Trinda made a huffy noise. Not long after, though, a steady whistling grew in volume and rose in pitch. People came in faster now, and Kenward did what he could to help. Others joined in, the whistle's growing intensity increasing the urgency. Then, with unexpected suddenness, the whistling stopped. Now raging, the fire crackled and roared.

"What happened?" someone yelled.

No one got the chance to respond. A series of explosions sent shock waves up the barrier, which reflected into the hold. It started with a single, smaller explosion, immediately followed by two larger blasts. When the second shock wave hit, it knocked Kenward, Trinda, and most everyone gathered from their feet. Cries from the stair told of those who'd fallen as a result. Kenward scooted himself backward as the heat and glowing embers followed in a towering wave. Then the cinders got bigger--much bigger. A flaming chunk of pressure tank landed where Kenward had been sitting just a moment before. As fast as he could, he regained his feet and started pulling people away from the ledge.

Waves of steam and a thunderous crack followed the explosions in rapid succession. Cries echoed within the hold. A mighty dragon roar drowned out the flames, a thunderous boom shaking the Godfist's foundations a moment later. Jehregard had struck the spire, Kenward assumed, though he could see little through the smoke and steam. Allette's shouts also drifted up to where he sat, and Kenward admired the girl's courage. Even amid a firestorm, she maintained her composure. It was a skill few possessed.

The feral queen struck the spire next, which resulted in a much different, higher-pitched sound. Kenward felt each blow in his boots. Striking repeatedly, one right after the other, the dragons beat a rhythmic tune. Caged thunder filled the hold as stone gave way and the plasma wavered. Another cheer rose from those gathered. Lightning leaped out from the destabilized barrier, and from the sounds of their cries, it struck both the feral queen and Jehregard. Again and again lightning created a dancing spider web that almost continuously struck the dragons. Kenward felt helpless and useless, unable to do anything to ease their pain and knowing they wouldn't last much longer.

"Look out! Get down!"

Kenward had no idea who shouted the warning, but he was grateful nonetheless. Just as he hit the stone, ash swirling maddeningly around him, Kyrien flashed overhead at high speed. Smoke roiled in his wake, and no one had to wonder for long what he was doing. The dragon must have struck the spire at full speed. The impact caused the flagstone to jump up and smack Kenward in the face. He was still regaining consciousness when the snapping started. It grew louder and when Kenward looked up, the spire moved toward him. The goal had been to push the spire outward, and he would have thought Kyrien's momentum would have done just that, but no one had accounted for the energy field's grip. It flexed and pulled the mighty stone finger back toward the hold. It was then the spire's base failed. The stone megalith no longer lumbered toward them; it crashed down at full speed. Helping pull the last few people over and away from the ledge, Kenward went down for a third time.

The mighty pillar rushed toward him. Solid stone surrounding Dragonhold's main entrance was all that saved him from being crushed. Blocking most of the entrance, the spire now rested against the mountainside. What little open area remained was filled with a constant barrage of sparks and lightning. The plasma barrier remained in place, except now it bulged inward, closer to the hold and far angrier.