by R. J. Louis
A worse option occurs to him, they might have already reached their next destination, wherever that is.
“Water,” he croaks, trying to look suitably frail. “Need water.”
The young man watching over him blanches, he looks little more than twenty. “Course.” The young man hands him a water skin, passing it through the bars. Wilhelm pauses, considering his options, but eventually decides to take the water. “I’ll go tell Sharan you’re awake.”
“The captain?” Wilhelm asks between careful sips. The boy gives him a reassuring nod, though whether it’s supposed to reassure him or the kid, Wilhelm isn’t sure.
He sits in uncomfortable silence as the kid clambers up a small rope ladder. Once he’s gone, Wilhelm jerks his arm hard, dislocating it with practised ease. The nerve crackles with a fuzzy sort of pain, but half a life-time of wielding lightning through his body has numbed him to all but the sharpest stings. With that, he twists himself to one side and is able to get a look at the knots of his bindings. Nothing he can undo with one working hand, so instead he grips the rope and lets divinity flow through him.
Talos, storm-father, the broken one, burns in his chest, and a sharp blue-grey light rips through his body and into the knots holding him. Usually the lightning directs him, but it is not so hard for him to direct it now. A waft of burning skin and fraying hair fills the small brig. Wilhelm grips his arm with one hand and then slips backward into the wall of the ship, the force of the fall pushing his joint back together. He grunts in pain, his hand bloody from lightning burns. He stretches awkwardly in the cage, then clasps his hands behind his back, clasping the ashen ends of the burnt rope in his bloody fists.
A few minutes later, the kid returns, with the Captain, a matronly woman he remembers vaguely looks down at him. Her eyes show no sign of the black and white orbs he remembers, but he heard enough of the tale from the Wrathhowl to know that it wasn’t likely to be his imagination.
“We don’t take kindly to stowaways,” she says, before turning to the young voyager. “Go tell the mate he’s awake.”
With a hasty salute, the kid ducks up the ladder again.
“Stowaway?” Wilhelm asks coldly.
“Course. Found you lurking on the ship, trying to steal free passage.”
“And where was I trying to go?”
“Damned if I know. Off Flare, of course. Gambling debts chase enough men away from this city.”
“So that’s the story.”
Her eyes glint as she nods, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“And where are you taking me?”
Wilhelm watches her jaw clench, a spasm of pain flickering over her face, and a smell he recognises as burning skin. Before the captain can stop herself, she rubs at her forearm, where Wilhelm glimpses a red, raw tattoo of a crenellated tower.
“The Watchtower,” he says softly, and she freezes. “You’re working for Archangel. What does she want with me?” His mind races, trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle he can’t see the edges of.
“How do you know that name?” The captain says, alarm crossing her face. “You’re not supposed to know... only The Watchers—”
“The Watchers?” Wilhelm cuts in quickly, and the captain swallows her words. “You?”
“We see what others choose not to,” she says. It has the ring of zealous propaganda. “And so we serve.”
“That’s fine,” Wilhelm says idly. “Everyone needs a hobby. I just want to know why I have to be involved.”
17 - As Above, So Below
Fire scorches the deck of The Kingfisher. The hem of Captain Thunder’s duster frays and sizzles, but the stained heavy leather protects her from the worst of it. Less fortunate voyagers scream in pain as the flames lick at their skin and hair.
“Artemis! What in the hells—” Thunder roars. “Molly, we need more speed, and power to the upward thrusters. NOW!”
“Doing my best, Captain!” Molly’s voice is drowned by clanging and the roar of the engine. The ship stutters forward, the wind whipping out the fires on deck.
Artemis brushes his palm against the closest rune to him again, the arcane scrawl flickers feebly then goes dead. Not a hint of the usual power can be seen.
“Captain. They’re not working.”
“Well do something!” Thunder roars. “Are you a fucking mage or not?!” The great beating of dragon wings sound like the world’s heart-beat as the great ruby beast launches at them, sending the sloop, tiny from this far up, skidding and surfing across the dunes.
Artemis tenses, looking at the chaos around him on deck. He turns toward the captain. “You brought this upon us,” he says, then stalks to the stern, where the Livewood is stained red and black from blood and fire.
The dragon’s great snake-like eye turns upon him. Malice and fire gleam in the depths as it opens its monstrous jaws. Teeth as long as Artemis’s arms shine in the moonlight, and an odour of death and decay ripples toward him. He raises one hand as a light flickers on in the depths of that horrible maw.
There is a flash of heat, as if he is standing too close to a camp-fire, before the wind changes around him. A cool breeze flows down his arm and between his outstretched fingers. It’s a little thing, at first, but it grows as he stands there, channelling through himself and towards the raging fire blossoming at the back of the dragon’s open mouth. The wind grows stronger, it whistles through the air around him as he looks down coldly at the beast.
The dragon breathes, and the fire billows out of its mouth, before blooming like a flower around it as the gust of wind from Artemis’s outstretched palm catches it and folds it back against itself. It howls, roaring in pain as the fire scorches it.
“Can’t handle the heat?” Artemis says with a perfectly white smile. The dragon falters, its wings struggling against the wind as Artemis exerts the last of his spirit into the divine power. The beast grows more distant as The Kingfisher ascends higher into the inky starlit sky. Artemis closes his fist finally, and the great rush of wind dies down.
“Good work, Art,” Captain Thunder says. “Any idea what went wrong with the shield?” The tension of a few moments ago sits heavily between them.
“One. You’re not going to like it.”
“Gods know I’m tired of hearing that. I think we’ve got the same idea.”
Both of them glance downward, into the depths of the ship, where Rico sits sullenly in the brig.
* * *
The dragon roars its defiance at the sky-ship, its wings straining against the divine wind. The sudden stop of its mad dash after The Kingfisher brings the mad, careening rush of Mudge and Jonas’s tiny boat over the sand to a dramatic end. Having been pulled along all this way by the rope netting tangled about the beasts bulky shoulders, they suddenly find themselves soaring off the edge of a dune, and crashing pell mell into the back of the now hovering dragon.
Things happen very quickly, as the dragon roars in pain and surprise, the small boat slides off it’s back and into the sand below, landing with a heavy thump on a downward slope. The dragon turns in the air, its wings getting entangled in the remnants of the rope which tethered it to the sloop below. Roaring in frustrated anger, it breathes fire, turning the sand beneath it a glassy gold.
But Mudge and Jonas are already gone, their small ship sliding down the sand dune and picking up speed. Mudge grips the front of the ship for dear life as Jonas crouches over the back, the finely sliced ends of the ropes which tied them to the dragon skid along the sand behind them, as Jonas furiously swings the Windblade in the air, each stroke pushing them downhill faster. Sweat runs down the old Wolf’s face and back as he spins the sword in a whirlwind of angry strikes, his muscles corded, body tense. Their ship skids down the dune, falling faster and faster.
“Keep swinging,” Mudge cries, his voice hoarse, his dark skin blistered from wind and sand. “Faster,”
Jonas doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s already pushing his limits. In the darkness, the dragon is littl
e more than a shadow in front of the stars, an ominous curling monster gleaming bloody red in the moonlight. Those great wings beat and pound at the air as it finally rights itself, the last of the rope sloughing to the molten sand beneath it as it sets off after the much smaller boat.
18 - Never Daydream in a Dragon’s Lair
Lily runs her hands through the gold, jewels, and gemstones, the sparkle reflecting in her moon-wide eyes.
“I like this Shard a lot better than Evergreen,” she whispers. “Barring the smell.” There’s a chuckle from the other voyagers around her, as they all work together loading gold into sacks.
“Too hot,” Guy says. “I prefer Torrent, cold, wet, great for sitting inside in front of the fire with a mug of steaming cider.”
“Would you look at that,” Lily says. “Our resident farm-girl. Is that what you’re gonna do with your share?”
“My share?” Guy looks down at the treasure gleaming in her hands. “A holiday wouldn’t go amiss. Maybe a few strapping Solarii to carry me up and down the stairs of a fancy inn.”
“I like the sound of that,” Lily grins.
“Steak dinner, every night.” Arn clutches at a silvery necklace with a light shining in his eyes. “Lifetime supply, maybe I’ll post up in Rezir, I like to give back to the local community,” he says with a snicker. “What about you, Boss?”
“I’ve got a girl,” Boss says with a smile. “Pretty thing on Spark. With all this gold, we could buy a little place, get out of the voyager business, maybe a little one. What about you, Lily, got any plans?”
Lily chuckles. “I’ll be on The Kingfisher, but covered in rubies and diamonds, and wearing a shawl of the finest fur, with boots of dragonscale leather.”
“Focus up, everyone. Remember where we are,” Kendra says, her voice sharp with tension.
“Oh lighten up K,” Lily says. “We’re fine.”
“We might be fine now,” Kendra retorts. “But we don’t know how long until that monster comes back.”
“When it does come back, it’s gonna be pissed.” Arn’s voice is a low whisper in the darkness. “Look at that.”
They turn as one, squinting into the darkness. Nestled in a shifting pile of coins and treasure sits an egg, nearly as big as a man, and simmering with a warm, bloody heat.
“Oh.” Lily’s voice is soft. “Wow, there’s something you don’t see every day.”
“We need to get out. Now,” Kendra hisses. “They don’t leave their eggs unguarded.”
“Well, that mother dragon did, good to know even dragons have shitty parents,” Guy says coldly. “We should do something about the egg.”
There is a soft susurrus, a shifting whisper from above, and as one the voyagers’ eyes drift upward. Coiled in the roof, barely visible even to their adjusted eye-sight, a dragon stirs. It is smaller than the beast outside, a mate, or an adolescent, its scales burn an angry red as it opens its eyes and glares down at them.
“Move. Now!” Kendra’s voice shakes as she grabs a bag of gold and slings it over the shoulder across from her quiver of arrows, the others move just as fast, spilling coins and jewellery in their haste as the dragon narrows its eyes and fire blooms in the cavern.
* * *
Rico looks up as the Captain’s telltale heavy footfalls echo into the brig.
“Kid, whatever it is you’re doing, you need to stop.”
“Huh?” Rico’s eyes reveal the truth, whatever is happening to the shielding above, he’s not doing it intentionally.
“The runes on deck aren’t working, and we’ve copped a fair whack of dragon fire. I’m going to let you out, if there’s something in you... some part of whatever it is that makes you special, that you can control... try and use it, because if not, Mudge is going to be toast.”
“Mudge? And Jonas, right? They went together.”
“How do you—yes. It doesn’t matter. They’ve got a dragon bearing down on them and we don’t have time to discuss it. I’ve already got the ship turning around, cannons are ready, we’ll do what we can to save them, but if we can’t get the shielding up when it matters, we’re in trouble.”
The key clicks in the lock, and the tiny brig cell opens. “Come on,” Thunder says, holding out a hand. Rico takes it, his hand dwarfed in hers, and lets her pull him to his feet.
“They’re in trouble,” Rico says, closing his eyes. His eyelids flutter as if he is caught in a dream. “All of them.”
19 - Ten Gold Bits
Mudge stands with one knee bent against the back of the sloop. He swings the sword wildly, sending gusts of wind and flinging sand flying. It’s the only thing that has saved them, the great cloud of sand obscuring them further in the darkness. Every few moments, the sandstorm lights from within as if lit by a great funeral pyre, and Mudge swings the sword in that direction, a gust of wind causing the flames to dissipate around them.
But as they reach the bottom of the great sand dune, their momentum slows. Jonas, sweat streaking his face, chest pounding hard with the exertion of his own mad defence against the dragon, is slumped in the sloop, recuperating. Mudge thrashes wildly, tossing up a whirlwind of sand, but it’s not enough to move them forward. The moon looks on uncaring as the sand billows around them, and the dragon draws close enough to blot out the light of the stars overhead.
“This looks to be the end of the road, Mister Mudge,” Jonas drawls, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “And what a road it’s been.”
“Damned if I’m letting some ugly, scaly-ass bastard kill me,” Mudge growls. “Not without a fight.”
“How do you fight a dragon?” Jonas wheezes, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Mudge pauses for a second, then looks at the sword in his hand. “How good is your arm?”
Jonas chuckles. “Not that good.”
“No? I reckon you’ve got it in you. Ten gold bits says you can’t hit the dragon with the sword.”
“Can’t hit it? Don’t you want me to hit it?”
“I want you to want to hit it even more. Surely the thought of paying me two hands of shiny ones is motivation.”
“And burning to death is just, what, a walk in the park?”
Mudge shrugs, then passes the sword over. “Wouldn’t feel right, me throwing away your sword.”
“Doesn’t feel right, me throwing it away either.” Jonas looks up, sighting into the haze of sand where the shadow draws closer, resolving above them. “Well, here goes nothing.”
He pulls his arm back, hefting the weight of the rapier lining up with the descending beast.
A roar of pain echoes out above them and Mudge cheers. “You got it!” Then swallows his words, looking at Jonas still holding the sword. “Or...”
A boom of cannon-fire sounds from above, and The Kingfisher roars down out of the starlight.
* * *
“Pull up broadside and fire everything!” Thunder roars commands from her place behind the wheel. Rico stands next to her, a pale shadow, watching the deck erupt in activity with a mix of quiet concentration and fear flitting across his face. The dragon below beats its great wings, the thin membrane glittering with countless tiny jewels in the starlight. It is crusted with gems and gold, weighed down by the burden of treasure. Still, whatever the weight of the hoard it carries on its back, it’s nothing compared to the beast itself. It holds itself in the air as if by sheer force of will, snake-like and wolfish all at the same time.
Rico feels very, very small. But he is not alone. He reaches out, and takes hold of Captain Thunder’s duster lightly enough to not distract her. The heavy leather is still singed, and it leaves his fingers dirty with ash.
Then he reaches out with his mind, and takes in the crew of the ship. The family he has found. He feels Artemis seething and Molly focusing hard, he feels each voyager setting to their tasks trapped between fright and the iron will of their captain. Beyond, he feels Jonas and Mudge, exhaustion heavy in their minds, and further, he feels Kendra’s team, something is wrong
there, but The Kingfisher can only be in one place at a time, they’ll have to hold on. A distant speck of sensation tells him that back in Rezir, Wilhelm is moving, and plotting.
Rico can’t reach those outside the ship, but within the Livewood hull, he can make a difference. The cannons fire as one on the dragon, and it roars in rage and pain. Rico lifts the shields, slumping, as fire washes over the deck.
Suddenly, the dragon is there, above them, its claws latch onto the hull, powerful nails scratching into the hard wood. The Widowgas engines churn, and they leave Mudge and Jonas behind, as The Kingfisher deals with this new assault.
Rico reaches out a final time, and touches its mind. The shield winks out, and the crew cry in terror, but there is something there, something bestial, Rico recognises it, in a way. There is something animal about him, too. Something simple. Rico brushes the dragons thoughts with his own, and the beast rears back. Shock and fear are not emotions one sees often in a dragons face, but in the joining of their two minds, the dragon blanches. With a gurgle of flames dying in its throat it detaches its claws from the hull of the ship and flees into the darkness.
20 - Fear and Flame
Flames sing in the inky black of the lair. Screams pulse in time with the roar of fire, and it reminds Kendra of her childhood in the worst possible way. They split up, as soon as the dragon reared its ugly, blocky snout. Each one of them shouldering a bag of treasure, none of them willing to let this fraught journey be for nothing, and sprinted into the darkness, making for the cavern’s exit.
Kendra feels trapped, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she stumbles around. All of a sudden she’s a wayward teenager again, watching her home go up in flames, she stumbles in the gold and silver, necklaces clutching at her foot like drowning men. Tangling about her ankles like snakes. Her feet sink into the mounds of wealth and coin like quicksand, as she struggles against the pull of dark memories. The dragon coils about the ceiling, launching flames which turn the cavern into a smelters furnace. Even if nobody gets hit, the temperature is rising fast enough to soon be deadly. The screams grow hoarse, and only then does Kendra realise they’re coming from her own mouth. She clamps her jaw shut, biting down on her tongue hard enough to taste blood. Panic grips her, and she yelps as something takes hold of her arm. She spins, eyes wide, barely comprehending Lily as the pale girl tugs her forward.