The Dragonswarm (15 page)

I craved the power. I needed it, to heal, to fly, to fight. I'd fought to gain my freedom, and it had cost me everything I was. I almost headed back. Every pace would make me stronger, and I could meet Vechernyvetr with open eyes this time. What choice was there? I couldn't fight Pazyarev, I couldn't help Teelevon without the dragon's power....

I thought of Isabelle. I thought of the home I'd known before the dragon's lair. I'd been a warrior and wizard-trained. I'd saved the town before. I'd made myself a hero before I ever borrowed Chaos, and if my people needed me at all now, they needed me as a man. Not as another dragon. I dragged myself to my feet, threw one last look toward the distant mountain peaks, then turned and stumbled down the hillside.

It was the tantalizing song of water that finally stopped me. A mountain stream burbled across my path, crystal water dancing across a shallow bed of stone. I fell into the water, gulping it as quickly as I could. I splashed the icy water on my face, dipped my whole head into it, and then shook out my long, wet hair. Then I leaned my back against a tree and breathed in the air around me, drinking in the odors of the forest and at last beginning to relax.

I was on a moderate slope, somewhere in the foothills near the base of the mountain. Pines and evergreens grew all around me, and I was stretched out on a soft bed of needles and moss. The canopy of limbs and leaves blocked out much of the sun, but a tiny shaft of light fell across my face, a dazzling gold that I had almost forgotten.

"Get up!" A man's voice suddenly shattered the forest silence, full of such command that I found myself instantly on my feet. There was a pause, and then, "Good. Now turn around. Slowly."

I did as he directed, but I fought to keep contempt from my expression. I had faced dragons today; what terror was there in a man?

He stood three paces away. On a bed of dry leaves and dead branches, he had come within three paces, and I never heard. He was a monster of a man, tall and heavily muscled, and his skin was black as night—an Islander. He was dressed in a shepherd's simple clothes, but over them was draped a once-fine tabard, threadbare and faded with age. The hilt of a great two-handed sword rose over his left shoulder, and lighter broadswords hung on both hips. He had a crossbow in his hands, the iron-shod tip of a bolt trained on my heart.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" His voice was deep, commanding, and it held only a trace of the Islanders' accent.

"I am Daven."

He waited for more, and when I didn't offer it he growled. "Bad times to be a stranger, Daven. Tell me your business in my mountains, or I'll drop you where you stand."

He did not blink as he waited for my answer.

"I am no threat," I said. The shape of the words felt strange in my mouth. I grimaced. "I am lost and alone, and my only business here is to leave these mountains."

"Bound for where?"

"Tirah,"

"Tirah?" He snorted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the plains. "Tirah." Then he pointed up the slope. "And you come from that way. There's no man for a thousand miles in that direction. To come here, you must come
from
Tirah."

My mouth fell open to answer, but after a moment I shook my head."I couldn't even begin to explain." I started to turn away, but as soon as I moved he fired. The bolt flashed toward me, but I touched it with my mind, unleashing little threads of water within the wood—last echo of life in a crafted thing. They expanded at my touch, and the bolt shattered to a thousand slivers midair. The heavy iron head fell to the ground at my feet. The soldier showed no sign of surprise. Slowly, eyes locked on me, he reached to his belt for another bolt.

I sighed. "Please don't do that. It's a waste of good craftsmanship." I tried hard to look bored and prayed he didn't reach for any of those swords.

Still watching me warily, he drew the crossbow's heavy cord with a smooth motion and placed the bolt in its cradle. He half raised the weapon, then seemed to change his mind and dropped his arms to hold it casually at waist height. I noticed it was still aimed at my heart.

"Very well," I said. "My name is Daven Carrickson, and I come from Terrailles. I have been prisoner in a dragon's lair, and I wish to return to the world of man." I watched his eyes for some sign of surprise or doubt, but he only nodded.

"Daven Carrickson. I am Caleb—they call me Caleb Drake, now—and I grew up in the Bateiyn Keys." He looked at me for a moment, measuring, and then added, "I am hunting a dragon."

My heart went cold. "In these mountains? How can you know where to look?"

He narrowed his eyes and considered me for a moment, "Dragons are everywhere. I must only look up. But the beast I hunt keeps a lair in these hills."

I fought a desperate urge to glance back and up toward Vechvernyvetr's lair. "Are you sure of that?"

"I know it well. She and her drakes have long haunted our village."

"Your village?"

He jerked his thumb back toward the plains again. "Below the mountains."

I felt a flash of relief. "Please, take me there. Is it far?"

"It is not far."

"Show me the way. It may cost you a few hours in your hunt, but it could well save my life."

He ground his teeth tight until the muscles bunched on his jaw, and his nostrils flared with a little huff of anger. "There is nowhere to take you. The village is gone."

"Gone? How?"

"This dragon burned it down. Slaughtered man, woman, and child. I alone survived."

The breath went out of me. I hung my head. "I'm sorry."

"As am I. You must be weary, but these is no refuge while the beast yet lives. Come with me to kill it—"

"I cannot."

"You face a crossbow like a warrior. You turn a bolt to splinters. You have escaped a dragon's den. You will be a powerful ally."

I shook my head. "I cannot help you. I'm sorry for your loss."

He considered me a for a long time. Then he dropped the crossbow to his side. "Today I woke with a home. An hour ago, it was taken from me. I will not sleep again until it has been set right."

"I'm truly sorry," I said again. And then I stopped. I frowned. "An hour ago?"

"If that," he said. "I have come from there—"

"Just now?" Despite myself I turned and glanced toward the dame's lair I'd visited, then quickly back to Caleb. There couldn't have been time. "Where is this lair?"

He pointed just where I had looked, along the slope to the south. "Perhaps a mile up. Among the low hills."

"How many are there?"

"Just the dame," he said, his voice a dirge. "Her seven drakes are dead."

I felt the hunger surge up in my gut, rage and regret that we hadn't made them ours. So much power to be had, so close, but this man had killed her seven drakes. We'd killed two more, and Pazyarev the dame.

It didn't matter. I was not a dragon anymore. I shook my head. "She's gone. The dame is dead this afternoon."

"She isn't dead. I've seen her shadow in the sky above this place. She's on the hunt."

I shook my head. "Dragons don't hunt by day."

His teeth flashed in something like a smile. "This one does. And she led me straight to you."

My jaw fell open. I threw my gaze to the sky, looking out with the wizard's sight, and searched for the Chaos shadow. I saw it, coming low and fast over the trees. Not straight at us—we must have been hidden by the canopy—but it had the right direction. I pointed wordlessly, tracking the shadow with my hand, and Caleb only nodded, still and silent as a stone.

But as the dragon passed overhead, he raised his crossbow in a smooth motion, sighted down my tracking arm, and fired a bolt that struck the beast dead center. It screamed in rage and fell out of the sky, crashing over treetops before it settled into a small dell some way down.

Caleb didn't run. He sprinted straight toward the sound of the downed dragon, but that bolt could not have done serious injury. It had surprised the beast at best. Caleb didn't seem to care. He stopped by a towering tree three paces thick, hiding behind one of its exposed roots. Very slowly he raised his head to peek over, then sank back quickly. He waved me over, and I tried to move as silently as he had while I crossed the little space.

When I dropped down beside him his eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady. He was preparing himself for battle. The tree stood atop a small cliff, holding together a wall of earth with its ancient roots. Between them, a great hollow in the hillside stood protected from the elements. Pazyarev's red sat upon its haunches in the gully, snapping with its razor teeth at the bloodied fletchings just protruding from its breast.

Caleb raised the crossbow to his shoulder and fired again. I watched in two worlds as the heavy bolt tore the evening sky, missed the dragon's throat by a hand's breadth, and drove home just in front of its hind leg. Blood spilled, dull and gray to my wizard's eyes, and the beast roared in hate and anger. In an instant it was in the air and flying straight toward us.

Caleb was already readying another bolt, and before the dragon reached us the warrior fired again, but this bolt glanced harmlessly off the monster's plated shoulder. In an instant more the beast would be upon us.

Fury clawed at the back of my mind. Even without the Chaos power to draw upon, days of bloodthirsty madness had left their scar on me. The fight called to me, and without thinking I rose in answer. I stepped up onto the heavy root, grabbed the hilt of the sword on Caleb's right hip, and leaped high into the air, all in one fluid motion.

I tore a fistful of earth energy free with my mind, stretched it into a beam perhaps three paces long and as wide across as my heel. It lasted just long enough to hold me. I sprinted to the end of it and sprang.

The beast was coming fast. I saw the flash of recognition in its eyes, felt the sneering contempt that would be words of challenge, but I had no time for banter. I cut a short arc through the sky, bending flimsy threads of air to guide my path, and landed on its head while it was still five paces from Caleb's hiding place. I held his sword reversed, and as soon as I landed I gripped the hilt in both hands and struck. The sharp point came down with all my might, driving through scale and bone and clear through the dragon's head. There was no splash of blood, no cry of pain or anger, only the crack of bone, the sigh of steel, and then a last beat of dragon's wings. I slew it in an instant, but its velocity still carried us forward and I only just leaped clear before the heavy body smashed into the ledge.

The ancient tree trembled, but it did not fall. I landed hard, but in an instant I was up, eyes darting. There was no threat. The beast was dead. I knew it before I even looked. I could feel it. And as I turned my attention to the corpse, I
saw
it. I saw the darkness, the black void of dragon power overlaid on reality. It shimmered like silk and flowed like water. It drained across the uneven earth and poured toward me.

The darkness pooled around my feet, and I felt stronger. I shivered at the sensation.

I didn't notice the silence until Caleb broke it with a cry. His shout was wordless, full of vindication and victory, but fueled by a heartfelt pain. He came scrambling down the slope, hopping onto the jumble of its broken body halfway down and climbing from shoulder to knee to head, then to the earth. When he reached the ground he stopped, and the victory seemed to drain from him as he sank down on one knee beside the mighty head, its sightless eye still open. I waited while he made his peace.

Then he rose gracefully and retrieved his sword with a grunt of effort. He dragged its blade against the edge of his sole to clean it, then let its point rest lightly on the ground between us. He stared at me in awe for several long seconds, then shook his head. "You are...something."

I shrugged one shoulder. "I know some of their secrets."

He shook his head. "I've seen what they do to wizards. I've seen they what they do to soldiers." He took a deep breath, then dropped his eyes as he sighed. "I didn't much expect to walk away."

"I'm glad I could help," I said. "You paid a great price for this little victory."

He towered over me, easily six inches taller and made entirely of muscles and scars. He wore authority like a cloak. And yet, in that moment, he looked small and afraid. He met my eyes and opened massive hands in a helpless gesture. "What do I do now?"

I turned my head vaguely in the direction he'd indicated for his village. "Nothing remains?"

He shook his head.

I looked back to the dragon. I took a deep breath and let it out. "You can come with me."

I said it almost as a question, but I saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes. He dipped his head once in a nod. "Anywhere."

"There is a town south of Tirah," I said. "Teelevon. My people are there, and they are in danger. I must help them."

He nodded once, gravely. "That is many miles. The world is a dangerous place. We will find more than one enemy between here and there."

The feral hunger in my heart nearly grinned at that. Enemies meant things to kill, and killing things meant power. That thought turned my head to the corpse before us. I closed my eyes to focus my attention and felt the cold sear of black Chaos power deep in my heart—the power I had taken from the slain red. It was just a tiny shade of the power I'd held in Vechernyvetr's lair, but it burned in my heart now and filled my mind with visions of vengeance.

"We will teach them fear, Caleb. Mankind will stand."

"How?" There was no doubt in his voice. Only desperate hope. "How can you defy them?"

I felt a fire in my eyes. "I know the ways of the dragons, Caleb. I know their strengths, their weaknesses...their secrets. And I know how they can be defeated."

He raised his chin and stared down at me for a while, considering. "You don't intend to run? To hide? You really mean to fight them halfway across the plains?"

"I mean to kill them all," I said.

"Teelevon, you said? Somewhere near Tirah?"

I nodded.

"I don't recognize the name, but I can tell you this: A month ago Tirah was as well defended as soldiers and steel could make it. A month ago the dragonswarm hadn't come that far into the plains. Perhaps there is yet hope."