The Seventh Magic (Book 3) (11 page)

"Now look at what you've done," Nora said.

"It's not so bad," Kenward said. "The stinger took barely a scratch. Nothing a good bit of polish won't fix, I imagine."

Nora put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. "And what about my roof?"

"I am sorry about that. A slight miscalculation, I'm sure. The winds are tricky around here, you know."

"I'm aware of this fact," Nora said, her face reddening. "One of the reasons I liked this place was that you'd have to be a fool to try to fly into it. Which I think was proven true today. I like having a mountain between my house and experimental aircraft."

"Or two," Kenward said. Nora silenced him with a glare. He chose a different tack. "I'll have some of the people working on the
Kraken's Ghost
come up and remove the stinger. I'm sure one of them will know how to fix a roof. Looks like tricky business to me."

"Fool boy."

"What?" Kenward asked, trying to appear innocent.

"I'm paying those people, and you waste their time."

"Not a waste, Mother. In the air I gained perspective, not to mention an otherwise successful test flight of the stinger . . . if you overlook the landing. Plus I got to see . . . other things." With the last part, he raised his eyebrows at his mother.

Fasha stopped glaring at Kenward and turned to in disbelief. "What are you hiding, old woman?"

Jessub laughed uncontrollably but then bit his lip and tried to make himself invisible. He failed.

A moment later, there came a rushing sound outside. Bits of the roof fell in as a massive downdraft struck. Kenward looked up in shock to see the stinger lift off. It couldn't be. Running to the door, he opened it to see the stinger resting on the grass nearby, undamaged. Six people saluted, all in uniforms both familiar yet new. Kenward was speechless. Fasha stared, open mouthed. Now both knew why their mother had been unconcerned about finding enough thrustmasters and flightmasters to get the massive ships off the ground.

"I knew you were up to something big," Fasha said with an accusing glare at Nora.

"You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?"

Four men and two women entered the cabin with military precision and formality. Kenward giggled and Nora glared at him. "Ever since Catrin Volker flew the
Slippery Eel
, I knew this day would come. Once I'd seen it done, it became obvious; my own eyes allowed me to believe my wildest dreams might really come true. How many times have I paced the decks, waiting for wind to push me along? How many times have I wished to fly like a bird and leave cold waves behind? I love the sea, truly I do, but this is business."

"Speed is speed," Kenward said, and this time Nora smiled at his words. "And size is size."

These words made Nora purse her lips. Fasha's eyes smoldered. Kenward stayed silent but it wasn't easy.

"These fine people: Vik, Raja, Devin, Wenli, and Gret are our new shipmasters. Two will be assigned to each ship."

Kenward seemed to be taking in the term
shipmaster,
but Fasha did the math. "There's a third ship?"

Nora didn't answer; instead she just looked at Kenward, closed her eyes, and inclined her head. He needed no more permission. Leaping up from his chair, he said, "It's
huge,
Sis! You've got to see this thing. It's way bigger and crazier than what we're building. We're rational and staid compared to that madwoman." More than a few of those gathered looked uncomfortable. "I've never seen anything like it. What are you going to name that thing, the
Flying Island
?"

"The
Trader's Skies
."

For all his joking, that name struck Kenward's heart. This was the opportunity of several lifetimes, and his mother was going big. With that statement, she had explained everything. Kenward was about to ask what the heck a shipmaster did when Nora got up and signaled for everyone to go outside.

Kenward walked out beside Fasha, who muttered in disbelief. Ahead walked the one he thought was named Vik or Vix or something like that.

"I think the old bag might have finally lost it, Sis."

Fasha rolled her eyes.

Vik or whatever his name was stiffened and walked faster. Kenward reminded himself not to select old Vik when the time came--too stuffy.

"Show them," Nora said, and she nodded at Vik.

The man stepped forward, straightened his arms, and flexed his muscles. Kenward wasn't impressed until the rush of air burst from his hands, lifting him from the ground and spraying everyone else with leaves and other debris. Kenward wondered if he'd judged too soon.

Then Nora pointed at Gret; the smallest person in the group by a noticeable margin. Then she pointed at the towering, ancient trees across from the cabin, away from just about everything else. "Show him."

Bending her knees and establishing a firm stance, Gret leveled her fist at the trees. She and Vik both held something in their hands, but Kenward couldn't make out what they were. When the woman applied her will, Kenward took two steps back. Without so much as flinching, she cast a column of rotating air across the distance with such violence, trees ripped from the ground were sent spinning into anything still standing. Within seconds, the land was cleared. Now Kenward understood how they had cleared the valleys in such a short time and how so many trees had been brought down and stacked in staging areas.

"How are you not crushed by such force?" Kenward asked. "Or thrown backward?" He had seen the challenges flightmasters and thrustmasters faced. This brought entirely new possibilities."

"The ancients knew things we still don't understand," Nora said. "These devices are among them. Clearly the vortex orbs allow tremendous thrust but also counteract it. Somehow the user is not subject to those forces unless desired."

"May I?" Fasha asked Gret, holding out her open palm.

Looking to Nora first, Gret received a nod in answer. With a sheepish look, she handed the glassy orb to Fasha. She'd seen such things before but never quite like this one. Part of the spherical object was perfectly clear; within, a glittering maelstrom swirled, impossibly deep and complex. The back was covered in metallic green and orange creating an intricate pattern. Form, function, and design created breathtaking art.

"For all the money I've spent building these ships," Nora said. "These cost me twice that; not to mention years of research. We need more, but it is a start."

"You got me, Mom," Kenward said. "I'm impressed."

"You haven't seen anything yet, fool boy." Nora wore an impish grin. "The next part is just for you." Rarely had she ever commanded Kenward's attention more completely. "Show him, Raja."

The man stepped forward with no expression on his face. He was good, Kenward thought. From his pockets, Raja produced four rocks, a couple of pieces of string, and a tiny thrust tube with hooks around the outside and a black crystal mounted at its center. Kenward recognized noonstone. He'd seen the largest piece in the world, and this was surely the same material. With those thoughts came pain, and he tried to push it away. What Raja did next partially succeeded. First he tied the thrust tube to the rocks and placed it at the center.

"Start the reaction," Nora said. Placing his hand over the crystal, a tiny blue spark and a pop were followed by rushing air. A pleasant breeze resulted. "Now provide no more energy."

Kenward gaped. Floating above the table, the miniature thrust tube continued to pump air, presumably with no input from the shipmaster. Such a thing could allow the ungifted to fly continuously on their own, Kenward realized with a jolt.

"Now we just need a whole lot of noonstone." Fasha said.

Nora grinned. "Funny you should mention that."

"Mother," Kenward said. "You are an evil genius."

"It's about time you all figured that out. Now somebody fix my roof!"

Chapter 11

A passionate life inspires.

--unknown bard

* * *

"I'd wager you never thought this would be your day," Nat Dersinger said to the man in Kyte livery, who leaped in surprise. "Left here practically alone to guard empty chambers. It must have seemed the most boring assignment possible."

Reaching for his sword, the young man turned to see Nat, backlit by the comets beyond the open balcony.

"Now before you do anything foolish, ask yourself this: Do you really want to cross a man capable of sneaking into the most secure part of Wolfhold?" Feeling bad for the young man, Nat could hardly believe he was there. No previous experience had prepared him for this. Mael's thoughts tickled his mind. "I don't want to kill you. This should be evident based on the fact that I could easily have killed you already."

Watching the young man's every move, Nat sensed his belief. Victory must have shown on his face. The young man looked as if he might try to make a run for it, presumably to seek help, but then thought better of it after Nat spoke. "Lord Kyte will not even miss what I am here to retrieve. It was left here long before the Kyte family occupied this structure. I will, in fact, be giving you and your lord a magnificent gift at a small price." The young man didn't look at all convinced but did not flee. "What is your name?"

"Jenneth," he said, his eyes downcast.

"I'll make you a deal, Jenneth. If you trust me and do as I say, I will leave you alive and more popular than you've ever been before." The young man's expression told Nat he just needed to set the hook. "Imagine telling Lord Kyte about how you found the ancient stash of art and artifacts that had been hidden within Wolfhold for ages."

Emotions played across Jenneth's face.

Hero.

Nat felt the nudge, recognizing it for what it really was; always before he had called it intuition then visions. Now he understood the true source and marveled at Mael's skillful manipulation. A single thought at the right moment was all it took to change the course of human history--or at the very least Nat's life and now Jenneth's.

"I'll do it," Jenneth said, "but do not think to cross me. One does not get to guard the lord's chambers, empty or not, without reason."

Nat did his best not to undo what Mael had helped him accomplish. He could have pointed out how much good that had done Jenneth, but he knew better. Instead he closed his eyes and inclined his head. It was enough.

"You've been taught to defend this place," Nat said. "You know how to trigger the cave-in mechanisms to isolate this part of the hold." The young man appeared to have second thoughts. "I need the key."

Looking over Nat's shoulder, Jenneth blanched. Knowing what the young man saw, Nat did not blame him for his fear; the dragon mage frightened him as well. No matter what he sensed beneath a seemingly endless well of resentment, Mael was no gentle flower. Jenneth said nothing but glanced at the fireplace. Stifling a laugh, Nat walked to the ornate hearth and inspected the tools hanging alongside. Amid the tongs and pokers rested a different kind of implement. Covered in soot, it fit with the rest, save the more skillfully crafted handle. Nat grabbed the key and walked toward the inner halls, indicating Jenneth should lead the way.

"How did . . . ?"

"Never take up gambling, kid. They'll just take all your money."

Hanging his head, Jenneth nodded. "I already learned that lesson."

Again came a twinge of guilt, but he just had to take solace in the fact that the young man would see another day. Beyond that was not his responsibility.

"Where are we going?" Jenneth asked, his voice trembling.

"To the secondary juncture," Nat said. Jenneth was again appalled by how much information Nat possessed. Mael had told him this would be the case. This was the final fallback position in the keep's defense. The Kyte family's early discovery and use of the keystones had made them extremely easy to manipulate. And they had brought other places within the sorcerer's reach. Ohmahold, Drascha Stone, even parts of the Godfist outside Dragonhold. Now Nat recognized the brilliance, amazed at what Mael had accomplished with so little access to Istra's light.

I saved the last bit of energy from when Istra last departed this world. Such a sad parting. I longed to use that power every day for three thousand years. I had to be patient.

Such resolve would have been unimaginable to Nat before Mael, but having been touched by this ancient mind and shown a glimpse, he was in awe.

Jenneth led the way reluctantly. He did not deviate from what Nat knew was the shortest path to the juncture. At least he was no fool. After two turns, Jenneth stopped. His eyes went to the ceiling, and he looked back as if he might be sick.

Nat joined him and looked up to see a beautiful mural of a wolf pack caring for pups. As much as he hated to do it, Nat hoisted the key.

"Do you have to?" Jenneth asked before Nat made another move. "Are you sure?"

"You know this is the location of the cave-in release, correct?"

Thoroughly defeated, Jenneth nodded.

"Then they would not place anything truly priceless here, knowing it would be destroyed."

Appearing unconvinced and worried, Jenneth wrung his hands and paced. Nat could not waste time. More guards would be stationed within the hold, though fewer than usual given Jharmin's current absence. Ramming the pointed key through a wolf pup, plaster and other bits falling away, Nat found what he was looking for. Jenneth went pale. Using the key to clear away the decorative covering, Nat revealed a small orifice, just large enough to admit the key. He had to move the handle to different angles to get more intricate parts of the design within. With a final twist, the key caught on something. Pushing Jenneth back toward Lord Kyte's chambers, Nat gave a good yank. At first the painting cracked and chipped, the cave-in not as instantaneous as one might expect. Already Nat was aware no shower of rock would follow, but Jenneth knew no such thing.

With a few more yanks, a much larger opening appeared. Starting just above where the ceiling had been, a series of indentations were carved into the stone: a ladder leading into darkness. Pulling a herald globe from his robes, Nat once again brought shock and marvel to Jenneth's eyes. Everyone knew what herald globes were and what they looked like, but few had ever actually held one.

"Don't drop it," Nat cautioned. "Now up you go." Bending his knees and knitting his fingers, Nat prepared to give the young man a boost. It was a good thing Jenneth had not done anything stupid, or it would have been a difficult climb.

Accepting the herald globe with fear and awe, Jenneth pulled a cloth from his uniform and wrapped the globe as if it were the most fragile object in the world before putting it in an inside pocket. He checked three times before he was satisfied the globe was secure, and he put a hand on Nat's shoulder. For the first time, the young man's fear was gone, excitement and the thrill of discovery in its place.

With a grunt, Nat lifted with all his strength.

"A little higher," Jenneth said.

"Stretch," Nat said through clenched teeth. Far too old for feats of strength, a cry escaped his lips as Jenneth did as he was told, which put more pressure on Nat's aging joints. Soon it was over and Nat struggled to stand straight. He was not weak, but no longer was he young and spry.

"By the gods! You spoke truly. Look at it all!"

"You will bring me three specific items that belong to . . . my companion. The rest you may keep or turn over to Lord Kyte. I make no judgments or suggestions. Get me the items I require, and I will be gone."

* * *

Dragons.

All Sevellon the thief wanted was freedom from dragons, yet no matter what he did, they found him. Whether painted on signs or engraved in furniture, they were inescapable. No matter how far he fled, they chased him down and pinned him beneath hungry gazes. His dreams were thick with them, but a single serpent dominated them all. This dragon was different. It wanted something and would not leave him alone.

Asking Jharmin Kyte to take him back to the Godfist had been among the most difficult things Sevellon had ever done, and it was, in almost every way, against his will. The only part of him that agreed with going back was the part that wanted to remain sane. Every day the dreams had worsened, the urge to throw himself into black water almost too much to resist. Compulsion to get back to the Godfist had overwhelmed all else, including self-preservation. He'd begun to fear sleep. Some people walked while dreaming, and he was afraid he'd wake up cold, wet, and drowning. Leaving Jharmin Kyte's ship, the
Wolf's Head
, was in many ways sweet parting; in other ways it was terrifying.

Back in Harborton, he was no more welcome than he'd been the last time. Somehow he'd have to get into the Masterhouse, but he had no information, no plans for the construction, no maps, nothing. All he could do was watch the entrances and make notes. Matters of defense often followed schedules and patterns. These fostered vigilance but were also tools the thief could exploit.

Pictures in his mind surfaced, but he forced them back down. If the dragons needed his expertise, then they could very well stop tinkering with his thoughts. Feeling a strong sense of aloneness afterward, he wanted very badly not to admit he missed the presence once it was gone. No matter how much he valued his freedom, having pertinent information pop into your consciousness provided reassurance. In matters of life and death, Sevellon tried not to be picky.

What the dragons wanted with an ugly stone, Sevellon did not know. He'd heard of the sky stone and how the gods had sent it so the Zjhon might defeat the Herald, but it hadn't actually worked out that way. He tried not to put much stock in the words of prophets and minstrels, especially since people still clung to legends already proven false.

Moving from shadow to shadow, Sevellon searched for a place from which he could monitor the Masterhouse. No one was going to bring the sky stone out to him, which meant going in. He'd have to access the most sacred inner chambers and carry a heavy, ugly, and presumably valuable stone away from those who cherished it. This was not a job he'd ever have taken, but choice was no longer his.

". . . need skilled hands," a man said.

Peeking around the corner, Sevellon spotted a tall guard lingering near the blacksmith shop.

"What for?"

"The masters want the same kind of comforts within the Masterhouse as are available within Dragonhold."

"Look what it got them," the smith said.

The guard shrugged and moved on.

Rubbing his hands together, Sevellon moved away, knowing it would be best to let at least a little time pass before approaching the blacksmith. Sometimes a thief had to be subtle, a master thief even more so.