Plan to collect 5 gallons of Seed fluid, then travel to Balaria and resume work. Will revert back to insect trials. Focus on smaller apparatus. More efficient titration process. When perfect, will resume human trials.
Packed all indispensable materials onto the prototype skyship. Forced to leave dragon bones and almost all of my notes on site. Pity, but the lodestones and spinal tissue take priority. They are the only things that cannot be replaced. I can always write more notes. And preserving dragon bones is easy. I just need fresh specimens. They are rare, but they cannot hide from me. Not anymore.
Leaving tomorrow, assuming favorable wind.
Ashlyn read the last part of the note over again, resisting the urge to tear it apart.
Osyrus had taken all the threads with him when he left. She’d come all this way, and for what? All she’d managed to do was endanger people’s lives and find a way to generate a small magnetic field around her arm. That wasn’t enough to break her out of this pit, let alone pull the armada of flying ships out of the sky.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Ashlyn allowed herself sixty seconds to fully panic. She let her mind sit, stunned and useless.
Then she took a few long, deep breaths. Concentrated.
If Osyrus Ward’s horrors were the only tools with which she had to work, she would make good use of them.
She touched the bandage on her wrist. Even in its severely diminished state, the dragon thread produced more than a hundred times the energy of Ward’s design. And it was getting stronger the more it spread through her body. That was why she overloaded his systems when she connected to them—they weren’t designed for such a powerful boost to the lodestone charge.
That meant that if she built a system that could handle a stronger current, she could create magnetic fields on a scale that Osyrus never accounted for. It would be enough to get her out of this pit, for one thing. But that was just the beginning.
She turned to the surgical tools.
“At least I don’t have to use a sharpened dragon scale this time.”
Then she picked up a scalpel.
* * *
When it was done, Ashlyn went back down the tunnel to Gaya.
“You found my men?” Gaya asked.
“Yes.”
“How did they die?”
“You sure that you want to know?”
“Widows do not turn away from consequences. They were my men. I want to know.”
“Osyrus Ward used the fluid he took from your body to create a series of artificial organs that do not degrade with age or require outside sustenance. He implanted them in your men, but the process killed them.”
“I see.” She paused. Looked at what Ashlyn had done to her own arm.
The surgery had been painful and rushed. The metal contact plates were attached to her flesh in the rough shape of an armored gauntlet. The conductive copper wiring was messily braided between the implanted lodestones and her dragon thread.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Gaya asked.
“No,” Ashlyn said. “But I found what I needed.”
“I suppose you’ll be leaving, then.”
“Yes.” Ashlyn hesitated. “Do you want me to kill you before I go?”
“That’s a kind offer.” Her face twitched. The metal plates along her chest strained against her alabaster skin. “Yes, I suppose.” She glanced up at the hatch that Ashlyn had fallen through. “Unless you have a way to tear the roof off this pit so I can see the sky again. The Nagas would come back to me, I think. I would like that.”
Ashlyn thought back to the blueprints of the Proving Ground that she’d seen. The entire structure relied on lodestones for integrity. And they were all part of the same orientation system.
She smiled. “I can do that.”
51
CABBAGE
Ghost Moth Island, the Proving Ground
Simeon emerged from the woods just as dawn was breaking. He was drenched in mud from the waist down, but the Ghost Moth scales on his chest were glowing in the early light. Cabbage always thought that was a strange contrast. Simeon’s soul was scarred and black, but his armor was the stuff of divinity.
Simeon marched toward the front gate with a posture that radiated frustration and fury. Cabbage had been bullshitting with Lexine and a few others by the front gate.
“What’d you find?” Cabbage asked, knowing full well it wasn’t the Flawless Bershad.
“Ezra’s dead. Splattered all over the red boulder pile.”
“He drug ’im all the way out to the boulder pile that fast?” Lexine asked. The pile of mined rocks was two leagues away, at least. “Doesn’t seem possible.”
And it seemed even less possible that he’d managed to double back and re-climb the Proving Ground, then slip inside. But this was the Flawless Bershad. Slayer of sixty-seven or sixty-eight dragons. Cabbage couldn’t even remember the exact figure. Point being, impossible feats were part of his daily routine. Bastard probably shat diamonds, too.
“How are things here?” Simeon asked.
“Quiet, boss. No sight of anything coming outta the woods. No word from any patrols. A few pressure switches went off in the workshop a while ago. Howell and Gill went to check on them.”
Simeon removed his helmet with a hiss and a whir. The unhappy expression on his sweat-sheened face made Cabbage’s mouth go dry.
“A while ago. Define that.”
Cabbage shrugged. “Dunno. An hour?”
“And you all have just been sitting out here with your thumbs up your asses since then?”
“Howell said he could handle it,” Cabbage said. “What with him having the shield and spear and all.”
“Crew o’ morons, one bigger than the last,” Simeon grumbled. “Gotta handle every fucking thing myself.”
“We got an errant skiff!” Lexine shouted, pointing west, where the Big Empty was shimmering orange with the dawn light.
Cabbage squinted. Sure enough, a skiff with a bloodred sail was about a league out from the surf. There wasn’t much wind, and he could just barely make out someone working the oars.
“Lens,” Simeon said, shoving Cabbage out of the way and moving closer.
Lexine turned over his lens to Simeon, who gave the skiff a long look.
“Whaddaya see, boss?” Cabbage asked.
“Three people. Man rowing like his life depended on it. Two others I can’t make out. One of ’em might have a bunch o’ bolts in his back.”
“The lizard killer stole the queen?” Lexine asked. “How?”
“By sneaking past you useless fucks while I was gone,” Simeon hissed.
Cabbage decided it wasn’t a good time to mention that if Simeon hadn’t gone traipsing off into the woods with his blood all hot, he might have been around to stop the Flawless Bershad. Pointing that out seemed like a really good way for Cabbage to get his arms torn off.
“All of you, with me,” Simeon said, already heading toward the winding stair that led to the docks.
Simeon took the stairs three at a time. Cabbage, Lexine, and the other two struggled to catch up. Cabbage had always had a deep-seated fear that he would die due to falling down a set of stairs. He wasn’t sure why. But that fear—combined with his dodgy ankle—put him at the back of the pack when they reached the dock.
“Oars,” Simeon growled, waving at the big pile stacked against the cliff. He was already moving toward the closest skiff, which was tied to one of the sagging, lichen-crusted pylons.
“On it, boss,” Lexine said, trotting over. “Ain’t gonna be no problem—with all of us rowing we’ll have ’em in ten min—”
Lexine’s optimistic prediction was cut short by a bolt through the mouth. He collapsed. Started twitching on the sand.
Cabbage was more or less exactly in the middle of the beach. Nowhere near anything resembling cover. So he just crouched down and searched frantically for the asshole who was waylaying them.
&nb
sp; While he was searching, two more bolts fired. The other two pirates fell over dead.
Knowing the next bolt would be for him, Cabbage closed his eyes. Mind going blank with fear.
But instead of getting a bolt through the brain, he heard the familiar sound of a crossbow jamming. By Aeternita, what a wonderful sound. It was followed by the dry rasp-and-click of someone pulling the trigger again and again, which only made the jam worse.
“Misfire, is it?” Simeon asked, voice muffled by the helm. “Damn crossbows will do that when you fire ’em too fast. Make you look like a damn fool.”
Simeon scanned the dock. “Gonna have to come out of your hole if you wanna finish this, lizard killer.”
There was a silence. Murky water lapping at the rotten dock.
Then a twitch of movement in the shallows.
The Flawless Bershad rose from his hiding spot—naked body dripping mud. He tossed the crossbow. Raised the Naga spear from the muck. The dragon-bone shield was on his arm.
“Clever bag of tricks you showed, today.” Simeon spat. “Didn’t peg you for a man with some sneak to him on account of your idiot charge back by the Bloody Sludge. Burns my piss, but I respect the skill.”
“Got no use for your respect.”
“Uh-huh.” Simeon smiled. Motioned to the weapons Bershad had acquired. “You kill the man who carried those?”
“That’s right.”
“Howell was my best.”
“I didn’t have much trouble with him.”
“Dunno about that. You’re looking pretty chewed up, lizard killer.”
He motioned to Bershad’s body. Along with the muddy water, there was a lot of blood dripping from fresh wounds.
“Had worse.”
“So I’ve heard.”
They circled around each other on the sand. Angling up.
“Gonna need that gauntlet from you,” Bershad growled.
“Ah,” Simeon said. “I get it now. You went down to the workshop. Relieved Howell of his weapons. And I’m thinking you got Felgor rowing his ass off with two dead members of my crew as cargo. Which puts you short the queen you came for. That sum things up?”
“More or less.”
“Then make your pass,” Simeon said. “Gotta say, most men who’ve fought me might as well have been naked for all the good their armor did them. Think you’ll be the first to try it in the literal sense, though.”
Bershad charged.
He didn’t move that fast. One of his feet was obviously hurt. And he didn’t do anything tricky with the approach—no big leaps or hops or other tactics you’d expect from a legendary dragonslayer.
But his first spear thrust shot out with such blinding speed, Cabbage didn’t even realize the attack had happened until he’d drawn the spear back into a guard. Apparently, Simeon didn’t either, because he took the raking thrust across his chest with a pained grunt. Dragon scales sprayed across the sand.
Simeon came around with a powerful punch, but Flawless got the shield up. There was a crunch, and Bershad went tumbling across the sand, landing in a coiled crouch. The rut that his left foot dug in the sand was smeared with black blood.
Cabbage raised his crossbow. He had a clear view of Bershad’s temple.
This was his chance to save Simeon. Finally.
And this time, he didn’t hesitate. Fired.
Bershad’s temple disappeared behind the shield. Bolt plunked harmlessly off bone. Bershad turned to him, eyes burning green with rage.
“Oh, shit.”
Cabbage fired again. Bershad blocked it again.
“Shit. Fuck.” He fired. Bershad smacked the bolt out of the air. “Shit. Fuck. Sh—”
Bershad slammed the spear into the sand, reached behind his shield, and flicked a knife at Cabbage. The blade caught him in the neck and sent him backward into the cliff. His vision cracked white and he went down on his ass. Cabbage prepared to bleed out before he realized that his collarbone had caught the blade. Stopped it just short of the big veins.
Simeon roared, then charged Bershad, who snatched the spear out of the sand and met him in a flurry of blows and kicked sand—both of them moving faster than snakes. Simeon’s fists pounded off the dragon-bone shield. Bershad’s spear shot out and scraped across Simeon’s armor, sending more white scales flying.
They broke apart. Stalked around each other in a predatory circle. Both breathing hard. Gods, Bershad was scary to look at—all painted black with crossbow bolts poking out of his back like dragon spikes. He looked more like a demon than the alchemist’s creatures.
“You’re slowing down, lizard killer.”
“So are you.”
They were both right, and Cabbage couldn’t tell who was hurt worse. Bershad was bleeding all over the place, but Simeon had plenty of bad gouges, too. Every scale on his right arm was covered in blood.
Simeon picked Lexine’s sword out of the sand. Worked the grip a bit in his fist.
Cabbage hadn’t seen Simeon use a weapon besides his fists since giving the spear to Howell. That wasn’t a good sign.
Simeon raised the sword. “When this fight’s done—and I’ve ripped your head off your fucking neck—I’m gonna use your skull as a piss pot for the rest o’ my days.”
Bershad twitched the spear in his hand. “Yeah.”
They moved toward each other. Slow. Methodical.
Cabbage looked around. His crossbow was half buried in sand about five strides away. Still had one shot left, if he’d counted proper. And he could put it straight through the Flawless Bershad’s skull. He just had to pick his moment.
When Bershad and Simeon were five strides away from each other, they both darted forward like slipped hounds.
Cabbage could barely follow the fight. Simeon came on in another careening wreckage of sword strokes that caught air or shield, but never Bershad’s flesh. Each time Simeon gave him an opening, Bershad’s spear snapped out from behind his shield, punching into Simeon’s armor—shattering scales or scraping across them with an ear-crunching screech.
It went on like that for a few heart-pounding minutes. After a long flurry of offensive spear stabs, Bershad’s back foot gave out. He went down on one knee, and Simeon lunged for a killing stroke. Bershad twisted his body so Simeon’s sword cut nothing but sand, then slammed the side of the spear into Simeon’s cheek. The blow disconnected one of the faceplates and sent it flying across the beach.
Simeon reeled backward—his face suddenly visible again. Both his lips were cut up. Cheek swollen. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the sand.
“You got salt, lizard killer. I’ll give you that.”
“All you got is that armor, saving your life over and over.”
“Maybe. But the point is I got it.”
Simeon threw a vicious downward stroke that Bershad caught with the shield. The sword broke in half—tip spinning backward into the surf. Simeon grabbed the lip of the shield and slammed it backward into Bershad’s mouth.
Bershad ducked away, abandoning his shield to get some space. Simeon left it in the sand.
And that’s what Cabbage had been waiting for.
He crawled over to his crossbow. Knife screaming in his collarbone. Snatched the weapon. Raised it. Aimed at the Flawless Bershad.
“Put that thing down, Cabbage.”
“I got a clear shot.”
“I know you do. But this is between me and the lizard killer now.”
Cabbage didn’t move. “Boss?”
“Put. Down. The. Crossbow.”
With great hesitation, Cabbage did as he was told.
“Cabbage doesn’t understand,” Simeon said, keeping his eyes on Bershad. “He never had the right blood for this work. But you have it, don’t you, lizard killer?”
“I do,” Bershad said.
Simeon nodded. “Things go your way, promise me you’ll let the earless bastard live. Having the wrong blood for this black life ain’t entirely a bad thing.”
“I promise.” Be
rshad paused. “This goes your way, send me out to the sea proper. No piss pot forged from my skull.”
Simeon smiled. “Deal.”
They angled up. Bershad adjusted the spear in his fist. Simeon rolled his shoulders, creating the familiar mechanical crunch. He was still holding the broken shard of sword.
They both hunched low. Prepared to charge.
And then the top of the Proving Ground exploded in a shower of broken metal.
Something shot up from the wreckage and into the sky, getting smaller as it rose, until it was just a dot. It stopped rising. Hung for a moment. Then started coming down.
Cabbage followed its meteoric fall, which ended almost exactly in the middle of Simeon and the Flawless Bershad. There was a blast of white sand. When it dissipated, Cabbage saw a person hovering three strides above the dock pylons, suspended by one arm, which was wreathed in machinery and humming with current. The pylons were shaking like Cabbage’s hands the morning after a long night of drinking.
Ashlyn Malgrave.
“Fuck me,” Cabbage muttered.
The pylons stopped shaking, and Ashlyn dropped her feet onto the ground with the grace of a dancer. She adjusted a black satchel that was slung over one shoulder. Looked at Bershad.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Came to rescue you.”
“Good job.” She turned to Simeon. “Will you yield?”
“Fuck no.”
“Didn’t think so.” Ashlyn started walking right at him.
Simeon raised his gauntlet. “Don’t know what sorcery you got in that arm, Queen, but it ain’t gonna stop my fist from blowing your skull apart like a melon when I punch you.”
Ashlyn kept walking. “Sorcery doesn’t exist.”
When she was two strides from Simeon, she jabbed her metal hand out, then ripped it down. Simeon’s head got sucked into the sand, as if a very powerful, invisible man had come up behind him and shoved his head into the earth. He was buried to his chin. Body still.
That seemed an awful lot like sorcery to Cabbage. He raised his crossbow. Aimed.
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