The Seventh Magic (Book 3) (8 page)

Though a single shot may have only stunned the dragon, repeated hits proved lethal. Drakon continued concentrating fire on the large dragon, and he fell into the valley below, taking out troops gathering at the cliff's base.

It took Brother Vaughn a moment to regain his feet, but then he half ran to where Durin lay. It was all the speed he could muster. Durin pushed himself up, and Brother Vaughn hoisted him to his feet. Putting the young man's arm over his shoulder, the monk did his best to take advantage of the brief lull to get them behind the Drakon line. Focused and organized, they stood as if they had been trained for this very task. Brother Vaughn was glad they were on his side.

"I just need to know one thing," Durin said as they gained the cavern.

"What's that?"

"How did we not see that coming?"

The monk gave no answer.

Armed with weapons from a forgotten age, Drakon were a deadly wind. None could withstand their speed and agility. Fire rained from the skies. As Brother Vaughn had suspected, more potent and powerful weapons existed in smaller numbers. No one had yet dared to test the glass spheres. If anything like herald globes, they could perhaps be used as thrown weapons, but Brother Vaughn expected their use was something completely different, the designs far too artful to be thrown at an enemy.

Staves proved an early favorite but functioned in the hands of only some. A young man tried three different rods before one responded to his mental commands; others found none. Durin did his best to coordinate the chaos. The Dragon Clan worked to arm and train new arrivals. The keystone caverns soon bristled with deadly weapons in the hands of willing if inexperienced wielders.

"How many more trips will it take?" Durin asked Arakhan before they took off once again.

His muscles gleamed with sweat and his breathing was rapid, but the Drakon shrugged. "There's fighting in the hold. I do not know how many will remain." With those words, they leaped back onto the thermals.

Reality poignantly clear, Brother Vaughn felt useless. Others were far more capable of handling the bows, and he handed his to a young woman desperate to defend her people. Walking back to the mystical comet orb, he grasped it firmly and removed it from its stand. After walking outside, he studied it in the light, trying to unlock its secrets. Information existed in the design; if only he understood it. The swirling vortex within reminded him of comets and Istra's power. The metallic pattern on the back looked mechanical yet smooth and sleek. Some mixture of art and machine was all he could gather.

With light streaming through his fingers and growing brighter, Brother Vaughn held it high and hoped he proved brave rather than foolish. Feral dragons fell upon them like a rain of death. The Drakon were unable to land with so many ferals attacking. And the regals were at their most vulnerable while they carried loads of passengers, giving them less opportunity to make evasive maneuvers.

Brother Vaughn stood, exposed at the keystone's center, his hand held high. Members of the Dragon Clan watched from the cavern entrances, each group covering part of the sky. For this purpose the entrances were ideal. They seemed to recognize what he did and gave him an unspoken acknowledgment. His eyes squeezed closed, Brother Vaughn engaged his will, knowing feral dragons descended. With all his might, he thrust upward, focusing his energy on the task. A ferocious roar resulted. Opening his eyes, he looked up to a wavering column of air that erupted from his outstretched fist. Feral dragons were cast away, folding like moths in a thunderstorm. A cheer rang out from the Dragon Clan, and Drakon arrived moments later, able to unload another precious load of passengers.

"One more trip," Arakhan said between gulping breaths.

Brother Vaughn worried the warrior and dragon alike might die from the effort. Flying in battle, especially when evading attacks, was far from a passive operation. Synchronizing movements with their mounts and dodging attacks used every muscle in their bodies. Firing his weapon occupied his hands, leaving him to grip the saddle with his thighs. The remaining Drak and Drakon pushed beyond their physical limits. Others had lacked the strength. Fewer dragons returned from each trip.

"I hope some remain," Arakhan said as the Drakon took flight, making a final desperate attempt to help their clanmates.

Proud to be among them, Brother Vaughn considered the source of his newfound strength and once again marveled at the ancients' skills.

Chapter 8

Fires of war forge our greatest achievements.

--Kendra Ironfist, Drakon

* * *

Larissarelatarenfall.

The name sounded unfamiliar in spite of being a shortened version of her own. The dryad had longed for companionship but not like this. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said, despite seeing the shadows the creature cast across the seaport.

You know who I am, and you know why I'm here. But you are correct about the disadvantage. That I'll grant you.

"There is nothing for you here. Go in peace."

Shall it be in peace or in pieces?

The dryad gulped, wanting to slide back into her tree and wait for the ancient dragon to leave. Though far younger than he, Catrin had given her the dryad's gift. Her brethren's combined knowledge provided history and perspective, things she would have otherwise lacked in her solitary existence. Catrin had been good to her, even if unable to be the person Larissarelatarenfall truly needed. She'd done her best. The dryad owed her very existence to Catrin, who had carried her spirit in seed form to the Black Spike and planting he tree beside the Well of Sight so she might watch over the world. In the long years Catrin hid within the tower, she and Kyrien had been the dryad's only other contact with the world.

She left something in your care, I believe. If you wish me to leave in peace, give me what I've come for.

"It's not here," the dryad said, her hands never leaving tree bark.

The ancient sorcerer crept closer and eyed her from around the corner.

What a pretty tree.

The words sent a chill through Larissarelatarenfall, and she caressed the bark, unsure what she would do if anything happened to any of it. The thought made her want to cry, but Catrin had told her to be strong. It was an impossible thing to ask of someone, to be strong when one is all alone. She was always alone. No one loved her. The thoughts hammered her consciousness, and she barely found the strength to dip her fingers into the viewing well. Wind rushed into the Black Spike through every orifice, threatening to implode the towering architecture. Sand and debris pummeled Mael as wind rushed into the small space, creating immense pressure.

"Do you want to die under a pile of rock?" the dryad asked, her voice betraying no fear. She had prepared for this. She'd known the ancient sorcerer might be more than she could handle, and she had but a single failsafe.

"You're not the first to try," Mael sneered. "But there is no need. I can smell the truth. Who has taken that which is mine?"

Larissarelatarenfall tried not to think of Kyrien and Pelivor, but the image leaped into her mind unbidden--at least unbidden by her will.

Thank you.

Exaggerated sweetness made the dryad's skin crawl.

Tell me one more thing, and I'll truly leave you in peace.
Somehow covering the space between them in less time than she would have thought possible, Mael reared back and towered above her.
Do you think I don't remember?

Larissarelatarenfall tried not to faint.

I helped make the great magics of the last age, you fool. And they will likely be the greatest magics of this age as well. Who is there to match my skill? No one not currently trapped within one of those magics.

"I don't want any trouble."

That made the dragon laugh, and Larissarelatarenfall thrust her fist into the viewing well. The waters at the seaport rushed higher, forcing Mael physically away from the well.

You think to use my creation against me?
The dragon chuckled, a deep drumming sound, but then his eyes narrowed.
Enough of this!

Fire seared the air and left the dryad smoking. Sap bubbled and hissed, leaves smoldered. Again he attacked, and leaves caught fire. Screaming, Larissarelatarenfall plunged both hands into the well and used the device itself as a weapon, contrary to its design and nature. It was like grabbing a red hot log from the center of a campfire, as likely to injure the wielder as the target.

"No!" Mael shrieked but it was too late. Charged liquid rushed out and pinned the ancient dragon. Struggling against its caustic grip, Mael screamed his anger and sent bluish orange flames from his nostrils. Again Larissarelatarenfall and her tree were seared, her defenses useless. Debilitating pain ended her attack. Involuntarily she relented.

Mael sank down against the far cavern wall. "You've made this far more difficult and painful than needed, but I don't suppose I blame you." The dragon moved to the well, looking into metallic waters that so clearly showed the world outside. "I just need to see a couple things."

Behind her tree, the dryad cowered, letting the dragon do as he would. She had failed Catrin. She had failed herself. Surely the world would pay for her mistakes.

Dipping his claw into the metallic water, Mael controlled the well with familiar skill, but the dryad felt he desecrated the place before her eyes. Still, she watched to see what was so important. When the Jaga came into view, she recoiled from such perversion of nature.

They thought it necessary. They said this was a small price to contain those who could rend the world.

She knew what was there. Catrin had watched the place, forcing the dryad to see things she wished she'd never seen. That would not make them exist any less. The well showed the skies above the Noonspire, a thick knot of comets coming in for a close pass. Someday those comets would come too close, but this was not the day. They would come just close enough. If he knew his colleagues, they would take advantage of the first opportunity. His thoughts rang through the cavern as if he shouted, but his jaws never moved. The true scale and majesty of the Noonspire and the massive construction surrounding it were soon apparent.
Isn't she beautiful?

Larissarelatarenfall could not have disagreed more. It was cold and foul and ugly in most every way in spite of symmetry and impeccable craftsmanship. Fewer dragons clung to it now, revealing more ancient stonework. Nothing to rival it had been built since.

They called her the Seventh Magic.

Beneath the light of comets shining brightly in the midday sun, the Noonspire rotated. Every dragon within took flight, scattering across the winds. A cloud of dust and spray followed. Terrific noise projected from the viewing well, which swelled the sorcerer with pride. Then the architecture began to shift; what had looked like mere building blocks showed their true nature: cogs within a massive machine. Water and vegetation spewed from the chasm, which pulsed and glowed, still preventing the land from collapsing inward.

Colossal weights on massive cables dropped into the abyss. The land bucked twice before the Noonspire began to rise. Like a harbinger of the end of days, the monolithic crystal thrust into the full light. Stone frameworks continued to churn and settle into place, just as the ancients had set them three thousand years before. No one then would believe the audacity of sacrificing the world's most powerful artifact to imprison the mighty.

It had fooled them all back then but would not do so now. Mael knew exactly what he faced, and seeing the Noonspire rise from the depths, exposed to the full light, he'd been right to prepare for war. It was a matter of time. Still, it would keep Catrin occupied. That alone made all he'd done worthwhile. The dryad trembled but could not look away. The world was changing, and she was witness. Mael cast her a sideways glance before shifting the view. The cloud forests burned, immersing the Heights in cinders and soot, while armies camped where food was plentiful, especially since the fires forced game downward.

In the Midlands towering war machines rolled toward cliffs previously thought impossible to scale. No one from this age would have dared imagine siege engines large enough to take the Midlands cliffs, but Mael had seen it all before. He knew this strategy as well as they did. The world relied on alliances. Attack any one nation, and allies rush in. This approach required a great deal of setup and timing. One had to build up massive forces and materials without tipping off enemies then attack all one's enemies at once. Concentrate your might on the weakest enemy, and your empire will soon grow.

Aggrezjhon and Murden had been busy, but so had Mael. When he shifted his view to include the Firstland, he laughed out loud. Larissarelatarenfall huddled behind her tree, praying he would go away.

* * *

"Thief," they called him. Sinjin hated the name but accepted the insult. Now was not the time. Better he prepare to fight for his life. Following the Arghast riders, they flew.

"There must be another way," Osbourne said from behind.

"No. I have to do this."

"What would you have me do?"

"Stay with Valterius and Gerhonda," Sinjin said. "I don't know where we're going, but we may need to make a quick escape." Leaving the dragons seemed like foolishness, but he'd given his word, and he knew what that meant--especially to the Arghast.

"And you think leaving me with them will make some sort of difference?"

"Well," Sinjin said. "At least you can warn anyone foolish enough to try and take them. I'm sure having Strom there will also be a deterrent."

"So you're just going to let that guy beat the tar out of you in front of your wife?" Osbourne asked.

Caught off guard, Sinjin almost laughed. What else was he supposed to do?

The trail of horses stopped near a dark patch in the sand. Valterius landed fast and hard, as if to show the Arghast just how tough he really was. Gerhonda followed suit. It made for a bone-jarring landing, but Sinjin couldn't blame them. A great many Arghast spears pointed in their direction.

A single escort waited. Sinjin had rights as the challenger, and the Arghast were a strict people, even when it worked to their disadvantage. Some sort of mystical portal waited beyond. "Stay here with the dragons. Kendra and I will go in and get the sword."

"Are you kidding?" Strom said. "No way."

"None of you have to go," Sinjin said, not even looking at his wife. There was no need to ask. He already knew where she stood on the matter.

"Try to keep me away." The smith crossed his arms.

"You're not leaving me here alone," Osbourne said and went to stand by Strom. So Sinjin, his wife beside him and his mother's good friends following in their wake, walked away from Valterius, hoping the dragons could take care of themselves. It did not escape him that he was likely in far greater danger. Perhaps he should worry about his own survival.

Square corners and runic inscriptions marked the entranceway; sand covered the rest. Sinjin could not imagine how such a structure could exist amid massive dunes and not be entirely filled with sand, but here, at the threshold, they were asked to remove their shoes. He expected them to ask for his weapons as well, but they did not. The Arghast were a strange people, he thought; swords were just fine, but where do you think you're going with those shoes . . . in the middle of the desert? Madness.

Within awaited an even more unlikely place. Lush carpets colorfully depicting Arghast history decorated walls and floors. Deeper within, paintings adorned the stones themselves, faded and chipped but still beautiful. The air itself spoke of age, mysticism, and power, making Sinjin's arm hair stand on end. Ahead awaited a chamber one could only describe as an arena. Here, under the sands, hid a small field. Though Sinjin had no idea what games were usually played there, the sight of the tribal leader waiting for him made it clear what would happen today. The man's size was perhaps the only thing Sinjin could hope to exploit. Smaller and quicker, he could perhaps outlast a larger man.

Kendra grunted behind him. Sinjin looked back and noticed she and the others were kept from staying with him. No one else was allowed to follow, and his friends had little choice but to sit on stone benches with the crowd. A small bubble surrounded them as none chose to sit close to them. They were on shaky ground. This had the potential to be a very bad day. Duty to his mother was all that kept him from running away. Everything Uncle Chase had taught him became jumbled in his mind; he hoped for muscle memory from all his sparring time. It was a thin hope.

An older man waited along with Sinjin's opponent. He raised his hand and asked, "Will you fight?"

The question surprised Sinjin since he had issued the challenge. Still, he answered to satisfy protocol. "Yes. I will fight."

The crowd erupted. The older man raised his hand again and turned to the tribal leader, whose muscles flexed. "Will you fight?"

"No," the big man said. An even louder roar filled the arena, the acoustics somehow amplifying the sound, making it seem as if thousands were present. "I use my right to a champion."

The hooting and celebration in the crowd indicated they all knew something he did not.

"Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan, will you fight?"

The arena exploded with activity. Skirmishes broke out in the crowd, bets were made, and more than one person fainted. Sinjin had a very bad feeling.

Cheers followed a young man emerging from the crowd. Shoulder-length black braids and coarse facial hair were signs of manhood, but he was smaller in stature than most Arghast. Sinjin wondered if it was a joke, but his spear and graceful gait said otherwise. His weapon was scaled down from what most Arghast warriors used, but the way Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan carried it made it appear just as deadly.