Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Moments later, Adan heard a buzzing in the air, like countless raucous noises overlapped in a distant cacophony. The sounds of the city grew hushed with an ominous premonition.

  Rising from beyond the forested foothills on the western horizon, the opposite direction from the great gray cloud rising from the mountains, an amorphous black shape swooped through the air, soaring just above the treetops. The shadow held its integrity for a few moments, then expanded, growing darker, larger. Its outline had great angular extensions, like huge wings, a gigantic body, a long neck, and then the entire mass blurred, breaking apart and scattering, then coalescing once more. His skin crawled from the sight.

  Penda moaned from where she held on to him for balance. Xar let out another unfathomable sound. Adan’s eyes could not focus on the terrifying shape that filled the sky and swelled larger as it approached Bannriya. But the dark shape disintegrated as it rose above the city, and Adan saw that it wasn’t actually a dragon, but a strange storm of living creatures.

  Penda pressed her hands to her temples. “Can’t you hear it? They’re screaming! They’re coming here.”

  Within minutes, the black cloud differentiated itself, shattering into countless flying things, an incredible mass of winged creatures, thousands and thousands of them.

  The wild skas arrived, flushed from their secret hiding places in the mountains. The huge flock of reptile birds descended upon Bannriya like a cloud of locusts, filling the air with flapping wings, clicking, buzzing. In terror, Xar clutched Penda’s shoulder.

  In the city streets, people ran for shelter. Mothers screamed, innkeepers bellowed. Everyone fled inside, slamming doors, closing shutters, yanking down awnings as the noise grew louder. The skas kept coming, flapping their wings, screeching in a whirlwind of sound like a mass migration.

  Adan could barely stand it, and he knew his wife heard it much louder in her head. Penda raised her hands and shouted, “The wreths have shaken the world! Starfall, they are trying to wake the dragon! All the skas are driven out!”

  He held her tighter. Months ago he would have laughed at the suggestion of the mythical dragon comprised of the worst parts of a god’s soul. But now seeing the angry cloud of smoke and ash erupting from the Dragonspine Mountains, as well as this ominous swarm of countless wild skas, he didn’t think that any legend was impossible.

  He tried to drag Penda inside, but she resisted, pulling away from him. “Wait! They’re not attacking.” The skas swirled and circled in the air, intimidating in their very strangeness. Xar clung to her, nuzzled her ear, sought comfort. She nodded to herself. “The skas are not what we should fear.” The clamor in her mind continued, but remained at a steady pitch.

  As the colorful reptile birds squawked and buzzed, swooping closer to the castle on the high point inside the walled city, Adan saw that she was right. The frantic skas extended their wings, flashed their plumage, and they began to alight on the city buildings, covering the roofs and walls like an avian blizzard.

  Closing her eyes, Penda stroked Xar’s plumage, calming her pet. “I won’t let you go! Stay with my heart link.”

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon, then sunset, and throughout the night, the uneasy blanket of skas covered Bannriya like the aftermath of a sandstorm, exhausted in their panic. The people hid inside, shuttered their windows, barred their doors.

  But the next morning, as the sun rose, the enormous flock spontaneously took wing again, flying back to where they had come from. Rather than departing in a single great cloud, this dispersal was slower, more uneven, as if the skas were still confused but no longer terrified. Soon enough, only stragglers remained on rooftops and under eaves.

  “I’ve never felt such dread inside me before, Starfall,” Penda said. “Never heard anything like it in all of our Utauk lore. Skas do not act like this.” She remained pale. “I wish my father had been here to see it.”

  “Something stirred them up,” Adan said as the last few reptile birds fluttered off, heading back to their mountain homes.

  The eastern sky remained dominated by the enormous gray pall of smoke and ash, and dust from the deep western deserts added a haze that hinted at some angry turmoil deep in the Furnace, where the sandwreths lived.

  54

  IN the subterranean chambers beneath the Magnifica temple, the Black Eels met their next challenge, an opponent far more brutal and powerful than any they had faced before.

  A godling.

  Priestlord Klovus wasn’t certain the barricade would be enough to protect him against the fury of the entity once the Black Eels provoked it, but surely his confidence and his domination was. He had always controlled the godlings before, but his assassins had to be powerful enough to stand against it, should the worst happen.

  The priestlord from Tamburdin District had again reported violent incursions from the Hethrren, and she wanted to unleash her godling against the barbarians, but its need for violence was growing stronger. By courier, Neré had asked for the key priestlord’s help in controlling the entity, since she had no doubt of his powers.

  Klovus needed to have no doubt as well, and he had to prove he could fight a godling should one become intractable. He had his direct connection to the godlings and his magic to keep them in thrall, and he had no better fighters than the Black Eels. Klovus had never considered fighting against a godling before.

  Turning the rings on his fingers, he watched the specially trained assassins. No one was more familiar with their deadly skills than Klovus was. His palms were sweaty with nervous excitement. These were the best ten drawn from the best teams. Although some would surely lie broken after the battle, he hoped most would survive. The test would strengthen the surviving ones, the spilled blood would empower the Serepol godling, and Klovus could gauge how well he controlled the fearsome thing. It was a good contest from all sides.

  The Serepol godling had existed since the very first Isharans had imagined it into being, and it was the strongest deity in the thirteen districts. The people fed it over the centuries with their increasing faith. Its power had waxed and waned throughout history, depending on how much Ishara needed its supernatural protection, and the captive deity shifted from benevolence to vengeance, as required.

  Klovus had sensed it all his life, and with his special abilities he had communicated with the deity, calmed it, channeled it, but also imparted his own anger and frustration, which was reflected back to him. The godling knew its place, knew whom it served.

  This was a far greater challenge than the Tamburdin godling would ever be, and after he and the Black Eels reaffirmed their abilities here, Klovus would depart for the distant district, where he could help guide the other godling as it destroyed the barbarians. That was what godlings were for!

  The underground chamber’s stone walls were thick enough that no one would hear any roars or screams once the duel began. The thick exit door was closed and bolted. Klovus had fastened two iron padlocks on the inside and tucked the keys inside his dark caftan. No one would get out of here easily. They—both the Black Eels and the godling—would have to go through him, and Key Priestlord Klovus did not intend to set anyone free. Not until this was over.

  The ten assassins stood shirtless in loose training pants and studded leather gloves, as if their fists might be effective against the furious power of the wild entity. Four of them wore tightly laced sandals, while the other six chose to remain barefoot, since the calluses and their sharp, hard nails were deadly weapons. They all carried traditional knives, clubs, curved swords.

  Against the far stone wall, the shimmering spelldoor hovered like a hazy irregular blot, leading to the strange realm where the godling lived. Adjacent to the spelldoor, an irregular sheet of shadowglass allowed him to glimpse the godling. He could see its shape congeal into an omnipotent humanlike face composed of features it had gleaned from countless worshippers. As the godling’s suggestion of a face changed, Klovus often saw his own visage there. The entity sensed an
d responded to the key priestlord, and that pleased him very much.

  Even though the temple construction had been stalled for decades, the people of the city still sacrificed to the godling. At dawn the crowds would swell for daily devotions, and their prayers and offerings replenished the entity. That was why Klovus had intentionally chosen the dead of night for this combat test, when the godling would be weakest.

  Still, the Serepol godling was never weak, but neither were the Black Eels. They would fight the entity with every grain of their strength, using their anger, their fists, their weapons, and anything else they could summon. If they did not succeed, then Klovus would have to drive the godling back himself. He would learn much, regardless.

  “Are you ready?” He stood behind a sturdy barricade of wooden beams, crossbars, and stacked crates, as if he intended to protect himself against street rabble. He had reinforced the barricade with his own magic, but he was the barrier the godling should fear, if it got out of control.

  As a team, the ten Black Eels faced the shimmering spelldoor, looking for shadows lurking behind the magic. Only Zaha responded. “We are always ready, Priestlord.”

  Klovus smiled. “As is the godling.”

  He concentrated on the thread of power within him and muttered the words that helped him release the magic. The glowing shape faded around the edges, split through the middle, then unfolded, inward, outward, and sideways. It opened, and the godling emerged into the chamber from whatever void it lived in.

  Even stunted by the empra’s unwillingness to construct its great temple, the godling was still awesome, a ravening powerful being. It came through the spelldoor, a thunderstorm of faces and smoke, a shapeless blob that extended lightning and blasted like wind wrapped into a cudgel.

  Klovus ducked behind his spell-enhanced barricade, but could not tear his eyes away as the Black Eels faced the angry deity. Two of them dove toward the core of the magical storm, flinging their bodies directly into the source. Zaha slashed with his hands, then kicked with a hard, bare foot, but it was like trying to grapple with a tornado. The godling hurled one of the assassins out of its raging nexus and smashed him against the stone wall. The Black Eel used magic to harden his skin just in time, but the blow was still hard enough to stun him. He slid to the ground, shook his head, then lunged forward again.

  Another assassin stood motionless, eyes closed, expression calm. He slashed with his curved sword, severing one of the smoky tentacles that extruded from the godling. It dissipated into steam and sparkles.

  Diminished, the godling recoiled and retaliated. The Black Eel could not maintain his meditative calm, could not even summon the skin-hardening spell in time before the godling smashed him to a pulp, leaving a ruin of blood and battered flesh.

  Seeing the modicum of success, Zaha changed tactics. He had thrown himself into the entity and been rebuffed, but now he also focused his mind. His expression became blank. He reached out and picked up the sword of his fallen comrade, holding one blade in each hand, and glided forward with deadly intent. Two of his companions followed his example and did the same.

  The godling was a howling beast, impatient with its captivity. Klovus could feel its energy in his heart, surging through his own veins. This entity was far more powerful than the harbor temple’s godling, which he had taken to Mirrabay. This was Serepol’s godling. This was his godling, more than the harbor temple’s godling had ever been.

  Another assassin used fury and violence against the roiling entity and was smashed against the stone wall, which split his skull with a splash of red.

  Zaha and three others maintained their meditative concentration, raised their swords, and walked into the whirlwind. With no more emotion than if they were harvesting wheat, they began to slash, twirling their swords to stab the godling, slice off its roiling tendrils, diminishing the deity bit by bit.

  The godling roared with a sound so deep and loud that the thick stone walls vibrated, as did the floor, the air. Klovus could hear the cry, a scream that resonated through the fabric of reality itself.

  Methodical, Zaha struck with his blade, spilling out a gush of black thunder. The godling re-formed, shifted its angry tendrils so that screaming and shouting faces boiled up like bubbles in a cauldron. Klovus saw his own face surge to the front, surrounded by an angry halo of storm.

  One of the meditating Black Eels opened his eyes and recognized the key priestlord’s face. He flinched just for a second—and the godling struck. A blast of shimmering magic slime struck the assassin in the face, driving him backward.

  Two other Black Eels lost their concentration, and the godling exploded in wild fury, knocking them all aside, swelling larger as it regained its strength. The cloud of hands and faces, misty tentacles and insubstantial fists swarmed forward, smashed a third Black Eel, crushed his chest. The godling was in a reckless rampage now, intent on annihilating the attackers.

  Zaha faced it. The other Black Eels rallied, but the godling was huge and strong. They were all about to be obliterated. Klovus could see that.

  He knew it was time to exert his power and influence. This was his test. The priestlord lurched out from behind his barricade, held up his hands, and shouted in his most implacable tone. “Stop! Godling, I command you!” His wall of magic crackled. The connection in his mind surged, and he held the godling in mental chains. “You serve me. I am your priestlord.”

  The deity crouched and squirmed, throbbed as numerous spectral heads bubbled up and turned to face him, their eyes glowing yellow, flashing with power that demanded to be released. Klovus stepped closer. “Stop, I said!” He walked through a smear of blood on the floor. “I command you.”

  He glowered at the godling, feeling its immensity, but he knew his own immensity as well. The godling had never questioned its place, and Klovus allowed no doubt in his mind, because the creature would surely sense it. “I feed you, I bring the worshippers. I am your master.” He lowered his voice. “I will see that your temple is completed, I promise. Someday. But only if you obey me.”

  The godling hovered in the air, electrical bolts skittering through its core. The battered Black Eels picked themselves up and stood, ignoring their injuries, not counting their fallen. They faced the entity, accepting whatever the key priestlord decreed.

  “This is a test for all of us,” Klovus said. “The Black Eels are my most powerful fighters, and I can’t have them all killed.” In his mind, he struggled to control the deity, sweating profusely as the godling swelled and resisted. “I cannot let you go out of control. Not yet.”

  The thing eventually pulsed in silence, its storm fading back into calmness. Klovus took another step forward, and the entity retreated toward the far wall. The key priestlord imposed his will, confident again. Yes, he could do this.

  With a gesture, he opened the spelldoor. The shimmering white rectangle appeared like a patch of morning fog and seemed to call the godling. In its last moments of freedom, the entity flared up, thrumming its inhuman roar through the air as if insisting that it wanted to remain loose.

  Klovus shoved it with his mind, forcing his command, and the godling tumbled back into the void. He sealed the spelldoor, and silence filled the arena chamber.

  Looking around at the dead and wounded men, Klovus assessed the damage. The chamber itself was intact, although several of the thick stone blocks showed cracks, broken by the sheer force of impact. Three Black Eels lay dead, one other severely injured with a broken skull. Klovus found it disappointing. Those were greater losses than he had expected, but a godling was no normal opponent.

  Zaha brushed himself off. “I apologize for our poor performance, Key Priestlord.”

  Klovus nodded slowly. “You were never meant to win. You fought a godling face-to-face with no special weapons but yourselves. It was impossible to win.”

  Zaha’s brows drew together, perplexed.

  Klovus reached inside his caftan and removed the two keys to open the iron padlocks. “But now I’ve given
you a taste of the impossible. I tested you, I tested the godling, and I tested myself.”

  Now he was ready to help Priestlord Neré in Tamburdin. The godlings truly were the greatest weapons imaginable, but they were no match for Klovus.

  55

  WITHIN hours, the konag’s expedition departed from Convera, heading west toward the disaster in the Dragonspine Mountains. Conndur dreaded what he would find there, but he had to see for himself, if Ossus was really awakening deep beneath the ground. To the west, the sky was a knotted mass of gray, choked with smoke and drifting flecks.

  “Are we really going to go there?” Mandan’s face was as pale as the ash in the sky. “Shouldn’t we stay in the castle where it’s safe?”

  “If the dragon is real, then no place is safe,” Conn said. “It’s our responsibility to help the people.” His voice carried weary disapproval. “You’ll be the next konag, Mandan. It’s your responsibility, too.”

  “He is right, my prince,” Utho said. “We need to see if this is true.”

  The prince dredged up inner courage and nodded. He mounted his horse and waited beside his father, ready to go. The Brava remained silent and deeply disturbed.

  Mandan had packed comfortable clothes that were much too fine for the rigors of outdoor life, but Conndur chose not to criticize his son, not now. When he and Koll had gone to war as young men, neither of them understood how few comforts a person truly needed. Mandan also brought a small book of maps and a sketchpad to draw what he observed, perhaps even evidence of Ossus.

  The royal party rode out through the castle gates and down to the lower city. The ashfall covered the streets and showed no sign of ending. More refugees flowed into the city, terrified and lost. The first ones came from the foothills, having felt the extreme tremors in the ground, seen the pillar of fire and ash erupting from Mount Vada like the roar of an awakening dragon.