Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  Never had he imagined that the dragons would prove to be real, living inhabitants of the Flux. Never had he imagined how easily they would defeat him in battle, stripping him of his life and his form. And never had he dreamed that a silent, hidden power with a name like Tar-skel would witness the event and raise him up to a spirit-existence in the realm—and not only that, but would restore him to human form, a perfect human form, so that he could walk as he never had walked as an adult human. He not only walked, he strutted and worked his own mastery over the very dragons who had defeated him—a defeat that was to be his last.

  Rent thought of Hodakai and laughed, shaking his head. Hodakai lusted for what Rent had. But they could not have been more unlike, either as human riggers or as spirits in the realm. Hodakai was simply unwilling to make the sacrifices that were required to become a favored one of Tar-skel. It was pitiable, but it was Hodakai's loss, not Rent's. Hodakai was one of those thoughtless riggers—not very bright, just bright enough to get himself into trouble. He was pathetically easy to manipulate; he'd not even questioned Rent's casual lie to him that his shipmate had been destroyed by the dragons. It was absurdly easy to maneuver Hodakai into doing what was needed; he was a perfect illustration of the price of weakness.

  No such weakness for Rent. For him, and for the Nail of Strength, there was no longer any possibility of failure. There was only the long savoring, the anticipation of victory. With the conquest of the Deep Caverns, and the tapping of the power that had lain buried there, Tar-skel had brought almost to full strength the web of magic that was binding this realm to his will. It was true that the ultimate fulcrum of his power, the control of the singularity within the Dream Mountain, was not yet in his grasp; but that too was drawing closer with each passing day.

  The dragons were enfeebled with despair, and yet the one thing they still did not comprehend was how perfectly their despair fitted into the Nail's sorcery. Tar-skel wielded despair, letting the dragons watch as their realm crumbled, piece by piece. Despair was his yeast, worked through his plan with infinite care, causing it to live and grow. Tar-skel thrived on the dragons' despair, and he was using it to create a work of such power, such sorcery, such magnificence and artistry, that Rent practically wept at the thought of it—and the thought of his own participation in it.

  One day Rent would walk with his Master in bodily form on the world-surfaces of other realms, other universes. Perhaps he would even assist in the rule of the universe he had once called home.

  * Rent. *

  He blinked, his reverie interrupted. He thought he had heard a voice, deep in his mind. He wasn't certain; but it would not do to take chances. Turning from the view, he started up the long ascending path that zigzagged up one wall of the vale, toward the Voice Stone. He moved expeditiously, but without betraying haste. The land below him was broken and sectored like a great, shattered moon, where a blast of sorcery had fragmented the crust into the chasms that provided quarters for the servants of the Nail, and for the captives. He glimpsed a few of the latter stirring at his passage, and he smiled.

  At the top of the path, he stepped onto a ledge that had been carved there, a platform edged by a low parapet overlooking the vale. A single guardian drahl waited there, cloaked in shadow. The drahl bobbed its head at Rent's arrival and withdrew into concealment.

  Rent paused before the Voice Stone. It was a massive, finely polished slab of obsidian, embedded in the base of a towering wall. It was pierced by a star-shaped opening, as though a tremendous bolt of lightning had punched a hole into its heart. Far from looking burned, however, the inside of the hole was polished to a black-mirror sheen. It bored unfathomably deep into the stone, into the bedrock, into some place that was not here. From somewhere in the remote reaches of the underrealm, there flickered the glow of a distant and powerful fire.

  Rent knelt before the stone. He dropped his gaze for a moment, drawing a slow and measured breath. Then he raised his eyes and peered down into the hole, staring deep, toward the distant fire. He could not focus upon the fire; it would not allow his eyes to focus. Slowly he released control of his sight, and with great deliberation, emptied his thoughts.

  His mind filled quickly, but not from his own thoughts.

  * * *

  The underrealm shimmered around him as he sank toward what had been a fire, but was now the invisible center of a cyclone. He was drawn to a point of focus that he could not see, yet which he knew instinctively was the presence of Tar-skel. He never knew what form the Nail's presence would take. Darkness swirled around him, enclosing him in the eye of the storm. As he was about to speak, to acknowledge the call that had brought him here, there was a sudden flash of lightning in the clouds. The storm vanished and he was floating among stars, surrounded by the vast, rotating disk of a blazing spiral galaxy. And out of the galaxy, he heard the voice of the Nail.

  * Servant, there is much to do. The time approaches when the realm will tremble! Tremble! *

  Rent could not speak, even in his thoughts. His breath was caught, frozen.

  * There is fear in the hearts of the winged serpents. Fear! But not yet enough fear. *

  Rent struggled to swallow, to think. But, he whispered, how could their fear be greater? Their groves are vanishing, they suffer dissension and betrayal, they have lost a spring of power that they were too dull even to realize they owned, they have lost many of their own number—

  * Are you reporting to me that which I already know? *

  I—no—not at all!

  * Have you forgotten the promise of the words of vision, which even the female serpents acknowledge? When the realm trembles, when the one falls in battle, then will come the ending. And the beginning. *

  Exactly as we have hoped—as you have planned.

  The majestic galaxy seemed to turn with greater speed, as though driven by an enormous urgency. * Yes. But we must be certain. Their despair grows, but not quickly enough! They must not even dream that they might prevail. We must cause their fear to mount until the very end, when the hope of even the female serpents will be crushed. Only when their hope is gone will we command them, and the power of their mountain. *

  Rent was silent. It was true that although the pieces were now in place, the final victory had not yet been won. But he could not understand the concern over the prophecy. The "one" was in the hands of Rent's servants at this very moment. What could possibly interrupt the plan? The rigger Jael would be brought forth to die, in a final battle with the dragons—and there would die the dragons' last conceivable hope: the rigger whom they believed would set them free. Jael was powerless in his hands. And her death would seal Tar-skel's web of power forever.

  The words of his master intruded.

  * Servant, I perceive your thoughts. *

  Yes, he whispered.

  * Stop thinking—and do something for me. *

  Of course. By your command. Though puzzled, Rent was not displeased. It had occurred to him, in moments of doubt, that in the instant of victory the Nail might be so satisfied with his own achievement that he would not fully recall the assistance that his servant, Rent, had provided. Rent would be happy to do whatever he could to reinforce his worth in his master's eyes.

  * Create more terror for me. *

  Rent smiled inwardly as he listened to his master's wishes. His kuutekka flickered and twisted, revealing his smile in the underrealm.

  * Walk among the captives. Enrage them. They despair now. See that they despair more. *

  Yes, Rent whispered.

  Shadows flashed and surged in the coiling galaxy. * One thing more. *

  Yes?

  * Bring me ASSURANCE that the one . . . the rigger . . . has been secured. Then let the serpents know. Use that pathetic excuse for a spirit—*

  Hodakai?

  * Hodakai. Through that one, remind the serpents of how hopeless is their cause. *

  Rent found himself hesitating. I'm not sure . . . it might just make them fight . . . all the more desper
ately.

  * It matters not how desperately they fight. It matters not how many drahls they kill. Drahls are nothing; let them die. I wish only the serpents' hopelessness. I wish their rage, and their fear, and their despair. Can you do that for me, servant? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? *

  The will of the Nail swept over him like a pounding surf. No, of course not! he whispered. I will do so—at once! It would not trouble him to deliver new instructions to Hodakai, the vacillating weakling, who would be terrified to receive them. All the better. Let Hodakai's terror be contagious; let him pass the news of defeat on to the next dragon who came snooping. I will do so with delight, he whispered again to his Master.

  But this time he was talking to himself. The great glowing span of the galaxy had vanished, and he was staring alone into the flickering fire of the Voice Stone.

  Chapter 31

  A Final Regrouping

  UPON THEIR return from the Deep Caverns, Windrush watched the others in the camp fly their grief flight for those just fallen, venting their sorrow against the target wall. Windrush was weary, and had no energy to spare for futile anger. As for those who had fought in the Deep Caverns, he sent them off with such encouragement as he could, to a well-earned rest.

  SearSky, to his surprise, offered encouragement to him. "Don't fret over the Deep Caverns, Windrush. So the Enemy has another useless acquisition. It is the lumenis we should worry about."

  Windrush accepted the spirit of the black dragon's words, but he was under no illusions about the Deep Caverns. Their loss was a serious blow. And he was worried about the lumenis, too. The fact that none had been lost tonight was scant reassurance; a new attack could come at any time.

  "In fact," SearSky added, "it is the young warriors I worry about most. Will they have the heart for fighting, at the end? It's not going to get easier, you know."

  "I have to agree," said Farsight. "Many of them are becoming discouraged. I don't know how much longer they can keep the will to fight." Farsight's half-silvered eyes seemed to rotate in distress. "Even now, I don't know if they truly recognize the Enemy for what he is. They stand by us out of loyalty—but they may waver and fall away, if we don't act decisively."

  Windrush nodded, reluctantly. "I fear we must begin to prepare for the decisive battle. We may have to strike the Enemy openly, at his heart, whatever the cost. There may be no other way."

  "Now you're talking sense!" SearSky growled, his nostrils flaring with red fire. "Strike at the Enemy's heart! Enough of this nonsense about mystical answers! Leave that to the Enemy! What good will his sorcery do him if he's on his own walk to the Final Dream Mountain, eh?" SearSky shook his craggy head with barely contained battle lust, and turned to Stronghold, who was nodding nearby.

  Windrush had no answer. He was continually amazed by SearSky's simplistic view of the world; and yet, at the moment, he wondered if SearSky might not be right. Perhaps they should just attack the Enemy, and when it was over, either the Enemy would be dead or the dragons would be.

  "The young warriors fought bravely tonight," he muttered, thinking aloud. "Especially Rocktooth."

  SearSky's eyes darkened as he turned back to Windrush. "They fought well enough for the Deep Caverns, maybe. But if we're to fly against the Dark Vale, they'll have to fight better. Smarter, faster, fiercer. And the sooner the better."

  Windrush studied the warrior dragon for a moment. "In that case, perhaps you should train them, SearSky."

  The black dragon's eyes flickered with suspicion. Behind him, Stronghold's amber eyes glowed with amusement.

  Windrush cocked his head, nodding. "I watched you fight tonight—and no one in the realm fights better. You could teach the younger ones. Sharpen their skills, make them hunger for victory."

  "There is no time for training!" SearSky spat. "The time has come to fight!"

  "Indeed, you may be right. The time may be close—though there remain questions to which I need answers first. But—if you are right—then all the more important that you teach quickly, and well. Teach the young ones to fight as you fight."

  "It is not their skill or their strength that I question," SearSky growled. "It is their will. Their courage."

  "Then give them will. Give them courage. There is great need and little time. Best you start without delay." Windrush paused, raising his head. "Unless you need to rest first—"

  Behind SearSky, Stronghold coughed. A wreath of smoke betrayed his amusement.

  Windrush caught the black warrior-dragon's gaze again. He could see that SearSky had planned to rest, but was changing his mind. "Good. I'm counting on you." He turned to Farsight. "Assign your weakest patrols to train with SearSky when they are not flying. But be ready. We may set out with little warning."

  "Where are you going?" SearSky protested as Windrush turned away.

  "In search of answers," Windrush said without looking back.

  * * *

  Windrush knew, as he entered the underrealm in his cavern, that what he had said to SearSky was accurate, and yet incomplete. The dragons did need to fight with absolute ferocity when the time came. But unless he found some new hope, he knew that a face-to-face battle with the Enemy was almost certainly doomed to failure.

  Where are you, Jael? he whispered to the darkness. Why have you not come to us?

  And where were the ifflings? They had spent their strength trying to reach Jael. Were they gone now? Gone forever?

  As he passed through the veil of the underrealm window, those questions were dispelled by the more immediate memory of what had happened in the Deep Caverns tonight. He felt his anger rising again as he broke into the demon-rigger's presence. HODAKAI! he shouted.

  Ah—Windrush! the spirit answered, dancing nervously—too nervously, almost as if he had been expecting the dragon to appear.

  Windrush glared at him. He had a feeling, suddenly, that he had interrupted another conversation—or at least, that Hodakai had very recently been talking to the enemy. He didn't sense the presence of anyone else here now; but there was, he thought, the lingering undersmell of a servant of the Enemy. Hodakai, you lied to me.

  I did? the spirit squeaked.

  You did, Windrush growled. You told me to expect the next attack on the lumenis.

  The spirit writhed before his anger. Wasn't it? Did I get it wrong? There was a tittering quality to his voice that made Windrush certain that someone on the other side had succeeded in intimidating the rigger.

  The attack was not on the lumenis. It was on the Deep Caverns—as I expect you know. Why did you lie, Hodakai? Is that what a rigger's word is worth? A lie? Windrush allowed his kuutekka to grow larger.

  The rigger suddenly seemed to be gasping for breath. You have no hope! he rasped wildly. No hope at all! Give it up, Windrush! Give it up!

  The dragon stared very hard at the spirit, until it twitched and grew still. It did not seem to be entirely in its right mind. What do you mean? Windrush asked, with a low threat in his voice.

  Hodakai twitched again. I . . . mean . . . you can only fool someone for so long. So you gave me your name! And you—you think you can trick me with it, but I won't be tricked.

  What are you talking about?

  You lied to ME, Windrush! the rigger squawked. You brought another rigger here to be your slave—and you thought you could enslave me, too! Well, it won't work, Windrush! It won't work!

  Windrush was so stunned, he hardly knew how to answer. Enslave? You fool—if I wanted to enslave you, I would not have given you my name, you drahl-baiting cavern sprite, you—! Windrush suddenly interrupted himself. What did you say? Did you say another rigger has entered the realm?

  Hodakai laughed, his voice a desperate cackle. Did you think I could not see past your lies? Yes, your rigger is here. But you'll never see her. Rent and the ifflings are making sure of that! You're so arrogant! You think you can—

  SILENCE! Windrush bellowed. He glared at the spirit. I'll say this once, Hodakai. I did not lie to you, and I have no intention
of enslaving you, or anyone else. He glared so deeply at the spirit that, for an instant, he caught the other's gaze and glimpsed a thread of his thoughts—and an astonishing network of lies that overlay his thoughts, held in place by a spell of persuasion. It appeared to be a simple spell, one that would probably only work on one as confused as Hodakai. Many of the lies appeared to come from another rigger—a Tar-skel rigger!—named Rent. Windrush grunted, understanding at last. This wretched creature truly had no idea what to believe.

  Windrush tugged at a thread of the persuasion spell, trying to loosen it. He couldn't tell if he had succeeded or not. You are misled by the lies of others, Windrush growled into the creature's thoughts. A rigger in league with Tar-skel! No wonder you're confused! And you believe that the ifflings are in league with the Enemy? Never!

  Hodakai pulled back indignantly, trying to gain release from Windrush's gaze.

  What do you know of this new rigger? Windrush asked. Where is she?

  That brought a snarl from the spirit. Then as the iffling said, you do intend to—

  She is a FRIEND! Windrush roared. A friend to the realm! Whoever told you differently was no iffling! It was the ifflings who brought her here! Do you understand? They risked everything to bring her to the realm!

  Eh? The spirit seemed completely bewildered now. Windrush tried once more to loosen the spell, then released the spirit from his gaze. Hodakai gasped and shuddered. But it told me—

  Who told you?

  It said it was an iffling!

  Windrush nearly exploded with frustration. It was not an iffling! Have you ever heard of ifflings siding with Tar-skel? Have you, rigger?