Sword of Fire and Sea (The Chaos Knight Book One) (25 page)

The beds at the inn were now familiar, from plush mattress and featherbed to the lavender oil that scented their sheets, and as Vidarian sank into theirs, it was the first genuine moment of comfort he'd had since that morning. The candle beside the bed flickered out—Ariadel's doing, and not by hand, something he was only beginning to become accustomed to—and she, as usual, was asleep in moments, leaving him to stare up into the darkness.

The curtains over the room's large window hadn't been closed. He thought about getting up to draw them shut, but as he moved his arm with the thought, Ariadel shifted in her sleep, murmuring. Settling his arm again, he shifted gingerly, then shut his eyes, reaching for sleep.

It was to no avail. The light of the stars winking through the far window should have been negligible, but it seemed to cut right through his eyelids. Aimless thoughts tumbled in his brain, worries half coherent and half not, until finally he opened his eyes again, if only to banish them. The window and its light were still there, insistent.

Gradually, his eyes blurred, and the stars blurred with them. They drew together and began to spiral gently. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, but the pattern persisted. Slowly, but steadily, the swirl drew itself into the shape of a woman, reclining in midair, clothed in tendrils of darkness that covered not nearly enough of her light-drawn skin. He flushed, and shook his head, but to no avail.

“Go away,” he said finally, glancing at Ariadel out of fear of waking her. She didn't stir.

The figure drew closer, still lying in midair. When she spoke, it was a soft voice echoing across a great distance. He fought down the flare of recognition that lit in his soul when he saw her. This was the creature that had lived in his mind for so long, it seemed, now made manifest at last. “Where do you think you are?” she asked, floating sedately. She did a lazy barrel roll in the air, her hair fanning out in a graceful arc as though it were underwater.

Vidarian blinked. “I'm sleeping,” he said. For a split second his vision doubled dizzyingly, and he saw two realities: himself, sitting up in bed, facing the floating woman; and himself, one arm looped around Ariadel, sleeping soundly.

“Correctamundo,” she said, rolling again until her feet were pointed toward the ground, then twisting lightly back into a standing position.

“What are you?” he asked, and she laughed, as some part of him knew she would.

Her face—just her face, leaving neck and all below in place—turned upside down.

“What do you think I am?” she asked, in his voice. Hearing his own voice echoed back to him, in addition to sending a chill through his body, made him realize he'd asked his question the same way—as a statement.

“You're the goddess of chaos.”

“Chaos,”
she flared, her head spinning back upright as she advanced on the bed, eyes inhumanly large and filled with livid white light. It was a whiteness of absence, a whiteness of between–being, a whiteness of nonexistence. Her fingers spidered over the footboard, fingertips hooked into gleaming claws. “That's what they call it,” she said softly. “I bring them balance, and they call me
chaos.
Chaos goddess,
star hunter.”
The name rang recognition again through his very core.

“They call you retribution,” he said, fixing his eyes on her, much though his brain willed him to look away.

“Rich men call me retribution,” she agreed. “Poor men call me justice.” Straightening, she raised her arms in front of her, hands balled into fists, halos of empty white light fluorescing around her body. Her voice dropped into an eerie, inhuman hollowness. “And what is retribution, but a return? All things,” the voice dwindled to a soft hiss, “and their antithesis.” She lifted off her feet again, the light dwindling around her, and floated toward the bed. Her right eye flashed red while her left burned blue. “At the heart of all things living is a wildness, a chaos, a not-being. I am the sea and I am the fire, and we are what's in between. And you, dear Vidarian, will set me free.”

Fear and stubbornness gripped him in iron fists that pulled apart from his center. “You don't know what I'll do.”

“Don't I?” She leaned close, whispering as if imparting a secret. “I'm a goddess.” The word carried power, like the language of the gryphons; it was more than merely what met his ears.

He held firm. “I've met goddesses.”

“But not,” she whispered again, sidling close, her scent like lightning, “like me.” She pushed herself away from him, floating toward the window. “I can do bad things to you, Vidarian.
Bad things.
You should do what I want.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” Strangely, he was fairly certain it was true. What more was there left to be afraid of? Should he fear her? The empire? The Alorean Import Company?

She looked down at the bed, into the reality where Ariadel slept beside him, and smiled.

A snarl leapt into his throat, a threat onto the tip of his lips. But she blew into his face, a cold wind that sucked the breath from his chest.

“See you later, alligator.”

H

“
Vidarian
,” Endera whispered sharply, and he swam out of sleep and into his senses. Ariadel moved underneath him, squawking groggily, and he twisted, sitting up and facing Endera.

Her shadowed form gradually resolved from the silhouette of the Starhunter supplied by his sleep-addled brain and into the weary and worried golden eyes of the fire priestess. “I apologize for waking you,” she said, in a tone that was certainly no apology, “but you must leave the city immediately.”

Ariadel had awakened quietly and now sat up in bed, frowning at Endera, but there was fear and respect in her eyes. She had not, and perhaps would never, recovered from the personal betrayal of her mentor's manipulation, but she knew, as Vidarian did, a survival order when she heard one. “The Company,” she said only.

Endera nodded. “I don't know what you told them,” she addressed Vidarian sternly, “but the guard is moving as we speak.”

“We have to get to Ruby,” Vidarian said.

“Out of the question,” Endera replied.

“She'll die,” Ariadel said, an entreaty and a warning in her voice.

Endera looked at them for two long moments. “Fine,” she said. “But hurry, both of you.”

They hadn't much in the way of possessions to begin with; Vidarian had purchased a new pair of boots more suited to their current land travel, but the rest of all his worldly holdings had burned with the
Quest.
In moments they were dressed, packed, and descending the inn's outer stairs into the cold night and the black carriage that awaited on the cobbles.

“Thalnarra, Altair, and Arikaree are waiting at the north field,” Endera said, as the carriage rattled toward the west hospital. Ariadel shivered, and as Vidarian moved to wrap an arm around her for warmth, Endera pulled a thick black verali fleece-lined wool cloak from a satchel at her side and handed it across to Ariadel. She produced another for Vidarian. “For the altitudes,” she said, and Ariadel reluctantly accepted the gift. Vidarian did the same. “There will be more supplies for you at the waystation on the southern border.” Her voice was strained, and Vidarian knew it to be with the pain of being so distrusted by Ariadel. Vidarian's distrust she no doubt took in stride, but some part of her conscience still railed, it would seem.

They tossed the cloaks across their shoulders as they stepped down onto the street outside the hospital. At the door were two cloaked fire apprentices who stood ready with baskets of supplies. They climbed aboard the carriage, clinging to the outside rails like footmen, as Viadarian and Ariadel rushed inside.

Ruby was awake and waiting for them.

“You have to take me to my ship, Vidarian,” she said, imperious even while half healed. “I can't die on land. You know that.”

Vidarian walked straight to her, slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her shoulders, and lifted. He spoke while carefully maneuvering her out the door that Ariadel held open. “We can't go to your ship, Ruby. I'm sorry. And you're not going to die.”

Ruby twitched in his arms, but wasn't strong enough to seize her own fate. “Please, Vidarian,” she said, turning her face toward him. Her face was hollow with the trauma of her healing, her eyes and cheeks sunken, if not deeply. Her entreaty, so far from the imperious Sea Queen who had commanded them mere weeks ago, tore at his heart. “You know you'd be out to sea if you had a choice,” she whispered fiercely.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, heartsick but willing courage into his steps as he carried her out to the carriage.

Once again the vehicle was clattering through the night, and Endera took them out to the open field behind the north dock, where they had landed so long ago. Ruby took one look at the flying craft—a proper one, this time, and no makeshift pram—and started thrashing again.

“I'm not riding in that thing,” she declared, a bit of her old fire back, even if it was out of panic.

“You are,” Vidarian murmured, watching the apprentices leap adroitly down from the carriage to load their supplies. When they finished, Vidarian took a step toward the craft, causing Ruby to struggle again. He almost lost his grip on her, and staggered. When he regained his balance, he shook her just hard enough to get her attention. Or, it was supposed to be. She ignored him and continued to thrash. Vidarian reached out with his water Sense and
pushed
at her, again gently, and this time she grew still as soon as the ripple passed over her.

“I don't like gryphons,” she said quietly, though her eyes went to the tufted ears that flickered toward them at her words. Her face only hardened. It was an odd statement from someone with a gryphon's face entirely covering her right shoulder, unless you knew Sea Kingdom rites. Vidarian had never asked her where the gryphon had come from; usually the tattoos were symbolic, but the white gryphon on her shoulder was much too lifelike.

“They're hardly all the same,” was all he could think to say, though even as he did so he realized he knew only five of them at all well.

Ruby didn't struggle again, but said only, “You'll wish we'd sailed.” Then she closed her eyes.

Vidarian lifted her up and over the rim of the craft, handing her gently into the waiting arms of the two apprentices who had loaded the supplies. They worked silently and efficiently, settling her into a padded and blanket-covered gurney directly on the deck.

As soon as they finished, the apprentices hopped lightly out, making way. Vidarian held out a hand to Ariadel and helped her up the portable wooden stepladder, then over the rim and into the craft. He lost no time in following her, and even as he was throwing a leg over the edge, the apprentices were moving to clear the stepladder away in preparation for takeoff.

Endera approached the basket, pausing only when one of the gryphons threw out a wing, stretching, to block her path. None of the three acknowledged her presence. “Your horses and supplies await at the Invesh Pass, as requested.” She rested a hard stare on Ariadel for a moment. When she found no response there, she turned to Vidarian and started to say something, then shook her head. “Safe travels,” she said only, and stepped back, leaving plenty of room for outstretched wings.

In addition to being larger, this craft boasted padded leather seats and an admirable use of space reminiscent of a well-kept ship. A simple galley set into the pointed aft held all of their food supplies and a tiny cast iron cookstove mounted on sea-swing-like gimbals. Benches of polished wood and leather cushions with woven silk safety harnesses provided seating for nine, though Vidarian wondered how three gryphons could carry so many. A clear area just behind the bow provided enough space for Ruby's nest, while cabinets set to port and starboard carried a familiar array of navigational equipment, as well as a few additional tools Vidarian guessed were associated with altitude measurement. He wondered, briefly, how so much development could have been done for these crafts—enough of it was all too familiar, but much had been custom created specifically for flight. There were stories…Once again he was forced to assess sea stories and mythology, wondering what was exaggeration or fairy tale, and what was lost knowledge—but then they were lifting into the sky.

As the gryphons exchanged a series of chirps and calls that Vidarian had come to realize were some kind of takeoff preparation signals, he noticed that his safety harness had an expansion belt. If he moved these two clips—yes—it seemed to be designed to allow a rider to stand up from one of the benches. As he adjusted the harness, then stood and took hold of a brass handgrip mounted in the side of the craft seemingly for this purpose, Ariadel reached out in alarm.

“Vidarian—” she said.

//
It's quite safe
, // Altair murmured, his voice like fresh-broken mint leaves in their minds. The craft lurched gently as the gryphons broke into a lope, headed for the cliff, but Altair's tone was conversational. //
This is one of the safest crafts in the air fleets—from the days of the skyships. A treasure lent our cause by my people.
// Just as he finished speaking, the three gryphons threw out their wings in perfect synch—and leapt out over the cliff. Vidarian's contemplation of Altair's casual reference to “skyships” was swallowed by the sudden view of the glittering sea hundreds of feet below them.

The craft itself dropped, pulling a startled shout from Vidarian and Ariadel both, and suddenly they were seeing the undersides of the three gryphons—the chains and braided silk bindings that held the craft to the gryphons’ harnesses played out on pulleys, pulled by gravity.

//
A more efficient suspension system
, // Altair explained, apology coloring his words. //
I should have warned you. The longer bindings allow us to maneuver with much greater agility than other styles of flying craft.
// Even as his heart hammered, Vidarian could see that this was true—the three gryphons now each had a much greater range of motion for their wings and bodies.

The gryphons climbed, their wings stroking strong and even. Wisps of cloud tore past their wings, beaks, and the sides of the craft—Vidarian reached out once to touch one, marveling as it broke across his fingers like steam from a teapot, leaving cold moisture in its wake.

As they broke above the last layer of harbor mist, the night sky opened huge over their heads, studded with stars. On the eastern horizon behind them, the sun now crept skyward, staining the distant land—flat farm fields precise with rows of crops—with brilliant orange and gold, a pool of liquid fire. Directly below, the lights of Val Harlon flickered against the still dark hours of morning, glimmering through breaks in the clouds.

When he wasn't in fear for his life, Vidarian observed, flying like this was actually rather beautiful. He and Ariadel exchanged a shared smile of wonder; she hadn't stood, but leaned out over the edge of the craft from her seat. Ruby, however, had not moved.

“Ruby, we're—” he began.

“Don't tell me,” she said, her eyes shut and mouth creased in a frown. “I don't want to know.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and returned his eyes to the remarkable panorama of city and coast below. Seemingly tiny waves crashed against the rocks south of the city, and the sea, which melted into darkness to the west, arced gently below them as the gryphons marked out a gradual curve in the sky, turning south. “Thalnarra,” he called, looking up and to port where she flew. One red eye tilted down at him for a moment, an ear swiveling in inquiry. “Does this craft have a name?”

Mirth lent a cinnamon spice to her thoughts. //
I thought you would have seen the markings on the bow. She's called
Destiny. //

“Of course she is,” he said, and sat back down.

For five days they watched the sky in all directions for signs of pursuit. Logically speaking, it would take any Sky Knights—even assuming the Company's claims of such an alliance were legitimate—more than a week of fast flying to reach Val Harlon even from the closest outpost. But after so many surprises they weren't willing to leave anything to chance.

//
Arikaree has great mind-strength
, // Thalnarra assured them. The gryphon could reach out with his mind for leagues in either direction, detecting the presence, if not the precision, of any thoughts near them.

//
Hurr
, // the pelican-gryphon agreed. //
None be following us, yet.
// Even still, Vidarian couldn't help scanning the skies with the brass sighting glass every few hours.

Two days into the journey, Ruby roused enough to sit up and look out at the afternoon sky. Her healing was clearly progressing—she complained with greater fervor every day as she downed the bitter draughts prescribed by the healers—but her expression as she gazed out at the sky was bleak. One night, after they'd made camp, Arikaree walked up to her as she stared out at the western sea.

They stood looking at each other for a long time—the gryphon's eyes pinned and his head tilted at intervals, and Ruby's expression changed every few moments. It took Vidarian several moments of surreptitious observation before he realized that they must be speaking to each other—and that apparently Ruby knew how to speak mind-to-mind with a gryphon without also speaking out loud. More mysteries—but as Ruby's attitude lightened considerably after that night, he didn't pursue them.