Silver Dragon Codex (6 page)

Cerisse trotted over a low, ruined wall and into the village proper, eagerly investigating the strange town. “Cerisse, be careful. Some of those buildings are unstable,” Jace warned. She didn’t answer, but continued on, making a soft sound of delight at some small object found within one of the huts.

“Cerisse?” Jace repeated, louder now. The wind had picked up and was whistling through the low, mossy out-croppings around the village. Something bothered him. “Be careful.”

“I will!” Cerisse climbed like a mountain goat over the various ruined buildings, poking first in one and then another. “Look, a church! No, it’s not a church. What is it?” Curious, she vanished down the path. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, Cerisse! Stay close—we don’t know what’s out there. Cerisse?” Jace called. “Gah, I don’t think she heard me.” He turned around to gather the others, but stopped short when he looked back to see if Belen had followed.

Belen had gone as white as a sheet, her gray eyes wide and stunned. Her breath was labored, heavy in her throat
as she looked from side to side at the wreckage. She walked forward and touched the broken foundation of the nearest building, her hands pausing in the etched scar left by claw on stone. When she spoke, her voice was soft and strangely flat. “There was a watchman standing here with a lantern. I don’t know why he had a lantern. Dusk hasn’t settled yet. The lantern caught my attention. I remember the flickering light—the lantern, the sunset, the fire in the sky. Scarlet and orange in the clouds.” Her lips twisted into a scowl as if she were baring her fangs, her eyes far away. Her voice changed, falling to a whisper. “They won’t see the strike coming. I will be quick.”

A crack of thunder rumbled in the sky, and Jace jumped. When he looked back, Ebano stood beside Belen, his dark hand on her shoulder as she trembled like a leaf in the storm. “Come in from the west. The sun behind me …” Belen murmured, barely aware she was speaking. Ebano shook her gently, and Belen blinked and fell a staggering step forward against the wall. “Oh!” Her eyes flashed open, and she caught herself. “By the gods,” she said. “I
was
here. I don’t know … I don’t remember much … flashes, really. Just images. Nothing specific.”

“Of being a dragon?” Jace asked gently.

“No, just of the village. I don’t know!” Belen exclaimed. “I remember hearing people scream, and a lot of chaos—but
I feel sad, and angry, and panicked. My heart is pounding like a parade drum. Dragons shouldn’t feel that way, right? Dragons are powerful. If I was one, why would I feel scared?”

“Scared?” Jace prompted.

Belen nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

“You might have been a villager here.” Jace tried to make himself believe the words, to forget the look on her face when she’d been describing the attack. “Scared” was the last word he would have picked to describe it. He wanted to help her, take her in his arms, and reassure her that it was all right, that he’d protect her no matter what. Jace puffed up his chest and fumbled for the words, managing only a squeaky, “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Belen said softly. “I just need to sit down.”

Beside Belen, Ebano tightened his hand on her shoulder and looked at Jace. “Inside.” His voice was low and echoing as he struggled for the words. The mesmerist gestured at the ruins ahead as a few large drops of rain splashed on the broken cobblestones. “Rain soon.”

“Right. The storm.” Jace shook himself. “Ebano, help Belen. I’ll find Cerisse and see if there’s a place up ahead that can give us shelter.” He waited until Ebano gave him a nod, and then hurried ahead.

The town was a shambles, with ruined buildings dotting the terraced landscape. The one building that was still whole stood at the center of the town’s plaza, just beyond the little bridge over the babbling brook. Jace scrambled over the broken bridge and through the windswept plaza, avoiding a large muddy patch of old-turned earth where it looked like something—probably one of the massive old trees—had been torn up and tossed away by a powerful force. The standing structure at the end of the plaza was twice as tall as the other buildings would have been and wide across the bottom, standing on a thick foundation of cut stone. The windows were of colored glass, though dim with dust and the waste of several unattended autumns. The heavy oak door was solid—and slightly open. He called Cerisse’s name again and heard her yell a response from inside. Picking up his pace, the tightrope walker headed that way.

Cerisse smiled at the sight of him, gesturing him over. She was turning over several battered books on a broken and tilted desk. “I think this was a school,” she said, waving him toward her. “Look at these books and the little desks all around. The chalkboard even has writing on it—a bit—though it’s pretty faded and smeared.” Cerisse looked around with friendly interest. “I think they were doing mathematics, before—”

“Before they died?” Jace snapped. He regretted the words as soon as he said them. “I didn’t mean it to sound that way …”

Cerisse set the books down. “Good thing Belen’s not here to listen to you talk like that,” she said. “I thought you said she was innocent?”

“I do!” he protested. “I … did. I don’t know what to think now, Cerisse. When she came into the village, she recognized it, and there was something terrible in her eyes.” Worried, he sank down to sit on the edge of the broken desk.

He’d expected a snarky comment or some kind of biting remark, but Cerisse sat down beside him and placed her hand on his knee. “Don’t worry. If she was here for the attack—dragon or no dragon—it had to be traumatic for her. One of our theories is that she was the dragon and was tricked into coming here. Maybe we were right. Or maybe she was a girl turned into a dragon by a horrible curse or some dark magic. In either case, she’d be pretty shaken up to be back here, right? Seriously, Jace, you give up too easily.” Cerisse peered out the open door, signaling to Ebano, who was coming slowly down the broken path. “All the signs point to a pretty bad storm tonight. I’m glad this building is still standing.”

“Yeah.” Jace was glad to change the subject. “I wonder why? All the others were pretty badly ruined.”

“Maybe the dragon thought there were children in here and didn’t attack it.”

Cerisse’s idea inexplicably cheered Jace. If that was true, then maybe the dragon that attacked the village wasn’t doing it to hurt people. Maybe, even if it was Belen, she’d had enough control of herself not to really go all out. But if that was true, and she hadn’t hurt them, then where had all the people of the village gone?

Ebano helped Belen up the stairs into the stone school, and Jace took her hand so she could lean on him as she stepped across some brambles growing at the door. Belen smiled kindly and squeezed his hand, then looked around at the little building. The sky outside had turned so dark that every flash of lightning appeared to rip through the clouds, like light needles darting black cloth. Jace shivered. The wind had turned colder, and the rain—once drips and drops—was sincerely coming down.

He closed the door as best he could, but the brambles that grew against the doorstop and along the stairs were thick and hardy, resisting Jace’s best efforts to pull them free. Belen bent by one of the desks, picking up overturned, ruined books and setting them on the little pew beside the table. “What’s this?” she said, holding something up. It was moldy and crushed, but had been protected from
the elements by the books that had lain on top of it, and it was unmistakably familiar.

“That’s a pinwheel.” Jace walked over and took it from Belen’s hand, turning it this way and that to examine the coloring. “Look, the maker’s mark is still on it—hey! That’s our circus’s mark, see here? The Amazing Celestial Circus of Light.”

Cerisse looked over his shoulder, frowning. “You’re right. Now that I think about it, the circus used to come through this area a lot, so we might have been here. But we stopped traveling this far south because Worver said the area wasn’t populous enough. Not enough audience to justify the trip.” She strode over to the door and peered out into the growing darkness as if trying to picture the town in its heyday. “I think I might remember this place after all—but it sure didn’t look like this back then. There were banners, and the village square was different. Something’s missing in the middle, like a big statue or something. Probably got torn down in the dragon attack.”

Jace had forgotten that the half-elf, despite looking the same age as him, was actually several years older due to her heritage. Of course she’d remember more clearly than he did. “Maybe there was a tree that’s been ripped up?” Jace voiced his own suspicion.

Cerisse shook her head. “No. Something smaller.” The half-elf cocked her head and stared at the village through squinted eyes. “I remember now! Wow, it has changed. This village was bright and friendly. Lots of children.” She sighed. “I’m glad we’re here to find out what happened. I hope we can and make things better. In fact”—she smiled at him—“I’m sure we will.” Leave it to Cerisse to juggle the facts around and make it sound like coming to this ruined town was a great idea.

Light flared in the school behind them. Ebano hummed a pleasant sound of approval, pulling pages from the old books and using them to feed a small fire he’d built up near the front of the room. Grateful, Belen pulled closer, tugging her cloak around her and sitting on the stone floor near the little blaze. She looked pale, wan, her lips thin. She sipped a cup of tea that Ebano had heated at his fire, and said little to the others. They ate a little, huddling around the warmth of the flame, the silence broken only by the faintest attempts at conversation.

Thunder crashed around the little schoolhouse, rain rippling through the streets and moving like snakes in steady streams over the broken cobblestones. Lightning flashed through the treetops, casting stark shadows on ruined foundations and the wreckage of torn-apart roofs.

Jace blinked. One of the shadows had moved.

“Cerisse,” he said quietly. “Did you bring those juggling daggers?”

She was lying on one of the wooden student pews, eyes half open like a cat’s. They gleamed in the firelight. “Yeah.” She stretched, sitting up to gaze past him. “Why?”

“Get them out. I think—”

He had no time to say more. Thunder shattered the silence and shook the walls of the schoolhouse, making dust trickle down from mortared stones and high wooden beams. In the plaza, two more shadows detached themselves from the fallen stones of ruined houses, heading toward them with an odd, ungainly lope.

“The fire”—Cerise had seen them too—“it’s gotten the attention of some forest animals. Probably bears.”

Jace fell back, wishing he had some way to bar the door. “Those aren’t bears.” He drew his weapon—a short sword left to him by his father—as the door flew open. It wasn’t wind that had nearly torn the door off its hinges, though. It was a monster.

It stood taller than any of them, on rear legs much like a man, but it was covered in shaggy, tangled fur. Fangs like knife blades curved down from its long, wolfish muzzle, and sharp, short claws cut the air at the end of five agile fingers. It walked with a hunch, as though the muscles of its back were foreshortened to allow it to walk on all fours.
But its rear legs, bent like an animal’s, still carried all of its weight forward to allow those sharply clawed hands to lash out at Jace. Feral, maddened eyes gleamed from beneath the dark strands of fur, boring down over the creature’s long muzzle with eager glee. It stepped forward, crashing into the room with a snapping series of barks. Jace could see three more like it in the ruined square running half like wolves and half like men.

“Werewolves!” Ebano shouted from the lighted area by the fire. He began scrambling around, digging through his pack. “Need mantano!”

“Mantano?” Jace stared, shocked. “What does that mean?”

“Mantano! Mantano!” The mesmerist yelled again. “To fight … mantano!” He clearly didn’t mean the werewolves, so it must be some kind of weapon. If only Jace knew what the word meant!

“I don’t understand you, Ebano!” Jace shouted, dodging again. These werewolves were fast. “What are you trying to say?”

Ebano struggled to find the equivalent word in their language, eventually giving up. “No bite! No bite!” He crossed his hands, waving them in the air in a gesture of negation.

No bite? I can manage that, Jace thought, darting to
the side as the creature struck out at him. Can’t promise as much for those claws, though.

The beast swung again, its massive muscles flexing, driving the sharp-pointed hand forward. Jace ducked, shifting quickly, and plunged his sword into the beast’s side. Not enough to kill it, Jace guessed, but enough to injure it badly. With any luck, the monster will just leave, licking its wounds.

Luck wasn’t with him. Roaring, the beast slammed both hands down on Jace’s shoulders, shaking the boy with a massive, bone-rocking jolt. Jace’s blade fell from his hand. The monster snarled, its lips twisting into a sickening grin, and snapped its jaws together eagerly. Jace looked down at its wound, the red tear along the beast’s side where his sword had struck it—and he felt his hopes shatter like glass.

The pink, bloody edges of the wound were closing, sucking themselves together in a smooth motion like wet mud oozing together after parting it with your foot. Within three breaths, the creature’s side had healed to little more than a red, angry slice. “We definitely have a problem,” he gasped under the weight of the creature’s palms.

Three small daggers, the size of throwing darts, flicked past his ear in a sudden buzz of motion. The creature staggered as they pierced its shoulders and throat, pushing
the beast backward. A fourth pinned the monster’s arm to the heavy oak door, piercing flesh as well as fur.

Ducking swiftly out from under the creature’s arms, Jace struggled free. He spun and ran back to his friends, scooping up his short sword as he sped past. Cerisse stood, legs wide for balance, in the center aisle of the schoolhouse, two more daggers already in her nimble hands. Behind her, Ebano had spread one hand wide to push Belen back behind the fabric of his purple sleeve. His eyes were wide and alight as he muttered soft words in his chirping tongue, his left hand making a warding sign in front of his strange eyes.