* * *
While Vera had been paralyzed, Caellan had secured the dragon to a massive tree about a hundred paces from her hut. The creature stirred as they approached. Glared at them with suspicious eyes.
“There is no way to tame a dragon,” Caellan said. “No domestication flows through their cold blood. But Grakus and I have an understanding with each other. An uneasy truce, I guess you’d could call it. I always expected it’d be the lizard that broke our terms and made me his lunch one day.” She paused. “But we humans’ capacity for wretchedness will always surpass the great lizards’.”
Caellan squatted down near a shrub, and fiddled with something unseen in the bushes. There was a click, and then movement in the tree above the dragon. A metal orb dropped down from a rope, then popped open, releasing a large shank of wet meat near the Greezel. The dragon started tearing the meat off the bone. Caellan watched patiently.
“The meat is poisoned?” Vera asked.
Caellan shook her head. “No. But after protecting me for so long, the beast deserves a final meal.”
When the dragon had stripped away all the meat, it started licking the bone. That was when Caellan extended one arm and jerked her wrist back. A needle flew from her cloak and struck the dragon’s tongue. The needle was so thin, the dragon didn’t notice. Just kept on licking.
A minute later, it slumped over. Dead.
“I also needed a good view of his tongue,” Caellan said, already walking toward the carcass.
She drew a butcher’s knife from inside her cloak. Arranged herself so she had clear access to the joint where the Greezel’s spine met a scale. Then she made a very precise hack, which left a small rend. She examined the result, nodded to herself, and then made another, just slightly deeper.
“Describe these acolytes in more detail,” Caellan said, rearing up for another hack. “Numbers. Behavior.”
“When we were in Burz-al-dun, there were only a few of them. Ward treated them more like servants and mechanics for the skyships—said that he couldn’t keep the Blue Sparrow in the air without their help. He meant that literally. He uses them as stabilizing devices for the skyship engines.”
“How does he make them?”
“They start as humans, I think. Injured, usually. He fills their bodies with metal and dragon bone and fibrous strands cut from Ghost Moth dragons. With the war on, there have been plenty of subjects. There are hundreds of acolytes spread across Terra now—each of them ten times stronger than any man has a right to be. Ward used the skyships to take power, but his acolytes are the ones holding it for him. Ghalamar. Lysteria. Dunfar. Pargos. The only place left outside of his control is the Dainwood.”
“I see.” Caellan stopped hacking and tested the spine. She was breathing a little hard from the work. When the spine didn’t come loose, she resumed her work. “So, he finally found the key to reigniting the Ghost Moth hunter-killer nerve to full strength. That’s too bad. When I met him, his progress had been blocked for decades because of that little mystery. But that’s what makes Osyrus Ward so dangerous. He soaks up information and techniques and materials from every source imaginable, then twists them around for his own purposes.”
“What is he really doing? He’s amassing all these materials but it’s unclear what he’ll do with them. He told me he was building a better world.”
“Yeah, he fed me that dragonshit line, too.”
Caellan made another hack. Stood back and wiped her forehead.
“A better world,” she continued. “A cleaner world. One where the animal struggle for resources was no longer necessary. Blah. Blah. Blah. I’m sure that in some ways, that’s what he still thinks he’s doing. But he lies, even to himself. The truth is far more terrifying.”
“What truth?”
“He doesn’t have a plan at all. To Osyrus Ward, this entire plane of existence is just one big specimen for him to poke and prod and transform. The output of his experiments—whether for good or ill—is irrelevant to him. He just wants to keep going.”
Caellan reared up and slammed the blade down again. This time, a splash of dragon blood sprayed across the raven feathers that ran along her wrists. She pulled the poisoned spike from the dragon’s hide with a yank and a grunt. A long tendril of tissue and meat and nerves trailed from the bloody stump.
“He’ll push the limits of our world, and he will never stop pushing. Stopping would not even occur to him. The problem is that ten years ago, he was torturing Seeds and rebuilding rat spines. Now he’s rebuilding people. If he keeps going at this pace, he’ll cross over from the mortal realm, and into the stuff of gods.”
“I don’t believe in gods,” said Vera.
“Neither do I,” said Caellan. “But that doesn’t mean Osyrus can’t create them.”
71
JOLAN
Dainwood Jungle, Southern Bank of the Gorgon
Jolan moved down the muddy trail carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. All around him, wardens were either chopping at Daintrees, or lashing logs together to build rafts that could cross the Gorgon River.
He found Ashlyn sitting with Willem, Simeon, and Kerrigan.
“I brought coffee,” Jolan said, handing Ashlyn a mug.
“What, none for the rest of us, boy?” Simeon asked.
Jolan shrugged. “None of you stayed up all night working on the astrolabe with me.”
“Balls the size of apples,” Simeon said, grinning and reaching into a little goatskin pouch. “I got you a present.”
“Really?” Jolan asked, surprised.
Simeon produced two silver rings from the pouch. Held them out.
“What are they?”
“You’re Almiran, ain’t you? And you proved yourself to be a true warrior at that warren.” He motioned to Willem’s ring-laden hair. “You need the decorations to reflect that.”
“But I’m not a warden.”
“Think we’re all a long way past giving a shit about that. Lean over and I’ll tie ’em in.”
Despite Simeon’s armored gauntlets, he got the first ring tied into a strand of Jolan’s hair without trouble.
“What’re they made out of?” Jolan asked.
“Some scraps I stole from all that shit you had brought to Dampmire.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Figured it should come outta your scrap pile, since that’s what you used to turn those Wormwrot to chunks. Label said it was modified lead or something.”
“I need those!” Jolan said. “They’re specifically designed to block electrical charges.”
“Too late, I’m done tying.” He slapped Jolan on the back. “Welcome to the bloody life of a true warrior, kid.”
Jolan touched the heavy rings. Looked around and saw that everyone was smiling at him.
“Uh, thanks, I guess.”
Ashlyn took a sip of her coffee. “I was just telling them that you and I finished extending the range of the astrolabe, which means we’re ready to head to the Gorgon Bridge.” She turned to Willem. “How much longer before you have enough rafts?”
“A day to finish the ones for the men. Another for the barges we’ll take the bombs on.”
Ashlyn nodded. “The donkey cart moves slow. Jolan and I will need three days to reach the bridge, so you’ll have a little time before you cross.”
“Whole riverbank is gonna be pocked with mud totems in that case. Between the skyship patrols and the River Lurkers, the men aren’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of crossing the Gorgon.”
“If we’re right, the skyships won’t be a problem for you,” Ashlyn said. “But there isn’t much I can do about the Lurkers.”
“You’re sure you can control the skyships from that bridge?” Kerrigan asked.
“No,” Ashlyn said. “But I am sure you’ll be able to tell whether I’m successful or not. Don’t start crossing until you’re sure.”
“And the signal we’re looking for is, what?”
“A skyship that’s under my control,
” Ashlyn said.
“How are we gonna know that?”
“Because I am going to start crashing them.”
Kerrigan shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Once you’re across, make your way to the fifth bend of the Foxpaw River.”
“What’s there?”
“A massive cave. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll make a frontal assault on Floodhaven together.”
Willem dug some dirt out of his ear with one finger. Flicked it away. “Never thought I’d do something so risky and be the one on the safer side of things. If you and Jolan don’t make it, we can always head back to the Gloom. Not that there’ll be much point in that, other than dying on familiar ground.”
There was a long silence.
“I wish Silas was here,” said Jolan.
“Kerrigan will go back to Dampmire in case he returns,” said Ashlyn. “But we can’t afford to wait for him.”
She left the last part unsaid, which was that he might not be coming back at all. There’d been no word from Deepdale.
“What’s the matter, Kerri?” asked Simeon. “Scared of a little fight?”
“I never was much of a warrior,” she replied. “And someone needs to take all those donkeys back to Vash and Wendell eventually.”
“Kerrigan the donkey herder. Quite the fall from grace you’ve had since being in charge of Naga Rock.”
Kerrigan just shrugged.
Simeon’s face softened a little. “Well, no point in talking the thing to death,” he said. “Let’s just get on with it.”
Everyone went their separate ways, leaving Ashlyn and Jolan alone.
“You don’t need to come with me to the bridge,” Ashlyn said. “I can read the astrolabe on my own.”
“If you split your attention, you’ll be more likely to make a mistake.”
“That’s true, but if something goes wrong, there’s no reason for both of us to die.”
“This was my idea. There’s no way that I’m letting you go there alone. I couldn’t live with myself.”
Ashlyn nodded. “I understand.”
Jolan took a sip of his coffee. Pointed at Ashlyn’s arm. “That’s the most powerful source of energy in the realm of Terra. There should be something better that we can do with it than destroy things.”
“One day, there will be. But right now, we need to do this.”
Ashlyn finished her coffee. Dumped the dregs into the grass.
“We’ll leave within the hour,” she said. “You need to go see Oromir before that.”
“What? Why?”
“Jolan.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Are there things that you want to say to him?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Do you want to go down the river holding onto them?”
“No.”
“Then go. I’ll get the donkeys ready to travel.”
* * *
Oromir and his men were helping to build the barge that was meant for the explosives, which were packed into a bunch of crates next to the half-built barge. Jolan spent a full minute going crate-to-crate, rechecking random bombs before working up the courage to approach him.
“Hey, Oro.”
Oromir turned around, saw who it was, then went back to tying a lashing around two logs.
“I’m busy, Jolan.”
Jolan walked around the barge’s skeleton so that he was in front of Oro. “Look at me.”
Oromir raised his pale blue eyes. Held his gaze.
“I used to think about you all the time,” Jolan said. “After the skyship crash. After Cumberland died. You were always in the back of my mind. I kept the memory of you so close. It was my one scrap of comfort in this whole mess. But after that night that I came to your tent, I let you go. The same way you let me go. Truth is, until Ashlyn said your name to me just now, I hadn’t thought of you for weeks.”
He paused.
“I’ve killed people since then. I’m not sure how many. Ten. Twenty. I turned them into chunks of smoking meat. And I didn’t feel a fucking thing when I did it.”
Again, Oromir said nothing. Jolan stepped closer.
“But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to go numb. Or twist into something wretched and evil, like Osyrus Ward. I remember the person that you were. And I miss the person that I was. I hope you survive this, Oro. I really do.”
Oromir still didn’t say anything. So Jolan walked away.
72
VERA
Frutal-Kush Valley, Caellan’s Cabin
While Caellan brewed the tonic, there was nothing for Vera and her men to do besides wait and work on their weapons. Vera had gotten both her daggers keen enough to cut silk during the first few days. Decimar and his men had fletched a month’s worth of arrows.
Entras paused his work fletching an arrow, lifted one ass cheek, and broke a long, putrid stretch of wind.
Entras—and most of the men—refused to eat or drink anything in Caellan’s hut. Instead, they relied on the Blue Sparrow’s backup rations, which consisted of canned beans and salted meat. The diet did not have a pleasant impact on the longbowmen’s digestive system.
“Will you please eat something besides that canned crap,” Vera said as she polished away the rough edge of a shot for her sling.
“Up until that bath of yours in Pargos, you smelled far worse than my broken wind.”
“But I took a bath, didn’t I? Caellan has plenty of food, which makes this a solvable problem.”
Entras glanced at the glass orbs on the eastern side of the cabin, where Caellan kept her foodstuffs. Nuts and berries and mushrooms, mostly. As far as Vera could tell, the alchemist didn’t eat meat or rice or bread.
“She keeps her food in the same glass worlds that she grows her poisons,” Entras said. “Only a fool would eat from those.”
“You calling me a fool, Entras?” Vera asked. “The mushrooms are delicious.”
“They could be poisonous.”
“At this point, I would rather die an unnatural and violent death than continue living under the yoke of your rancid gas.”
“I didn’t realize widows had such delicate sensibilities.”
“And I didn’t realize that longbowmen have rotting bowels.”
Entras shrugged.
Caellan burst through the door of her cottage in a flurry of movement and muttered curses. She flitted between the different globes—snatching at red tubers and glowing green mushrooms. She threw the ingredients into a sack, then grabbed a needle and began extracting goo from the ass of a massive black spider covered in crimson hairs. She cursed to herself the entire time.
“Trouble?” Vera asked, getting nervous.
“You dick-swinging bowmen are farting too much,” she said without looking away from the spider.
“Don’t you start with me, too, witch,” Entras said. “Your work is out back in the shed. We’re stuck in here waiting on you.”
Caellan stopped. Stared at him. “That is not a shed, it’s a laboratory. And you are filling the atmosphere around it with methane, which is screwing with my work!”
Entras frowned. “That can’t possibly matter.”
“Oh, you’re an expert in nerve-stimulating agents now, are you?”
“We haven’t set foot in your … laboratory.”
“When you invent a way to keep the exterior air from getting into an enclosed space without suffocating the person inside, you let me know. Until then, pass out some fucking wine corks and tell your men to stick them up their fat asses!”
Caellan left.
Entras looked at Vera. “Do we have fat assess?”
Vera smiled. “Not the word I’d use.”
They were quiet a moment.
“But, all things being equal, maybe have your men wait on the ship until she’s done? I’d hate to endure the ruckus caused by Caellan passing around corks.”
“Aye.” He looked around. “Place gives me the creeps, anyway.”
* * *
> Vera didn’t mind the solitude during the days that followed. That was the one aspect of a widow’s duty that had always felt unnatural to her: you were almost never alone. More often, you were surrounded by scores of lords, preening like roosters.
She basked in the quiet of Caellan’s hut. Meditated. Stretched. Exercised. Did her best to prevent her mind from getting bogged down on thoughts of Kira, alone and unconscious in that tower. Surrounded by metal and machines. Most of the time, she failed.
Ten days later, Caellan emerged from her laboratory with three vials. Green. Black. Red. She laid them on the table and poured herself a full mug of liquor. Her first, since she’d begun working on Kira’s tonic.
“Inject them in a series, starting with black at the top of her spine, then red, then green. The first two will reverse the effects of Ward’s suppression tonic. The green will activate Kira’s healing capabilities and allow you to take her off the machine.”
“Is there a risk of her transforming?”
“There is always a risk of her transforming. But, I did the best I could to mitigate it.”
“How long will it take to work?”
“Best guess? A few minutes. But to be perfectly candid, this is uncharted territory. I designed the suppression tonic, but I have never tried to reverse it before. She will be extremely weak at first, but should improve quickly.”
Vera nodded. Went quiet.
For the last thirteen days, when her mind wasn’t bogged down with thoughts of Kira’s eyes and voice and smile, she’d been trying to think of a way to break into that chamber and get her out. So far, she hadn’t come up with any ideas.
“Is something wrong?” Caellan asked.
“This gets me past one obstacle, but there are others in my way. Some of them are very large.”
She told Caellan about the place Kira was kept, and the massive acolyte who guarded her.
Caellan chewed on this information. Then she moved through her hut and opened one of the chests in the back. Came out with the cloak she’d been wearing the night they’d met. In the low light, Vera could see the copper wire and bone barbs beneath the black sheen of bird feathers.
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