“It is time for you to atone for your crimes,” Avakketh said.
“Please,” she said. “They’re not what you think. We don’t have to kill them. Will you at least let me report what I have learned about humans in my time among them—”
“Your hubris is galling. I know everything I need to know about humans.”
“My lord—”
“This is what you will do,” Avakketh said. “You will go to Medophae. You will take him on a journey over the True Ocean, back to the isle of Dandere where Oedandus cannot reach him, and then you will kill his mortal form and all the humans who live there, ending Oedandus’s line forever. If you succeed in this, then you can return to Irgakth or Amarion, whichever pleases you, and you may live the rest of your days with my blessing once again.”
Kill Medophae. Kill all the humans. She looked around at the faces on the ledges. She didn’t see any remorse there. Was this what dragonkind had come to?
“Are we completely without compassion for lives other than our own?” she asked, looking farther, turning all the way around, this time looking directly at her parents. And there, she saw what she needed to see. Their scaly faces were tight, eyes narrowed as if readying to fly into an ice storm. They had braced for this moment; they had come to peace with the notion that Avakketh was going to bend their daughter’s back—or break it.
They’re going to kill me. He knows I can’t possibly do that to Medophae. This is his way of passing a death sentence. When I refuse, he’ll destroy me.
She had to run, but he would have prepared for that. Even if Avakketh couldn’t pull the air from her wings, grounding her, or smash her with air that had suddenly become hard as stone, or just steal the breath from her lungs until she suffocated, even if he couldn’t do all these things, there were three white dragons on the dais, hunched and ready to leap on her. She glanced around.
And let’s not forget the hundreds of other dragons, many of whom might love the chance to please their lord by slaughtering a traitor.
The irony of it made her heart ache. She had waited four hundred years to be reunited with her beloved. Now she was free, and instead of going to his side, she had chosen to come here. Fool.
She raised her chin. She would face her death with dignity, though. He wouldn’t hear her plead.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said. “The humans aren’t your enemies, but you’re going to make them your enemies by...” She trailed off. There was a human perched on the edge of the half dome over Avakketh’s head, one leg cocked up, one dangling over the hundred foot drop. It was Tarithalius!
Miraculously, none of the other dragons had noticed him up there, simply watching the proceedings, and she forced her gaze back to Avakketh, tried to continue her train of thought. What had she been saying?
“...you’ll make them your enemies,” she stammered. “By...by attacking them. Why not just...” She flicked a glance upward. Thalius held up a hand like he was waving, five fingers splayed. As she watched, he folded one finger down. Then another. Then another.
Five...four...three...two...one...
Bands leapt into the air with every ounce of strength she possessed. It was a bad idea to rely on Tarithalius. He was capricious. But she had a split second to choose to be part of his plan, whatever it was. And, she had to face it, his was the only plan available.
Her leap took her eye level with Avakketh, and time seemed to slow as their gazes met. His lips pulled back in a snarl, and he gestured even as she spread her wings. He was going to pull the air away from her, or break her wings. She felt the threads around her bend, but then another force took hold of them and bent them back. Her wings didn’t break. When she pushed against the air, it pushed back with a ferocious gust.
Bands shot into the sky, whipping past Tarithalius, who winked at her, then vanished.
The three white dragons leapt after, pumping around the half dome, struggling to get airborne. One of them let loose a deadly jet of fire...
...and they dropped like stones. If Bands wasn’t so scared, she would have laughed to see the elite three looking like felled pigeons, struggling to untangle their limbs. But gloating could cost Bands her life.
She spun, but a fire jet hit her wing. She yanked it in, wincing. She couldn’t afford to lose her advantage. She unfurled it and rode the ferocious gust, leaving the amphitheater behind, which erupted into roars of surprise and anger.
The elites were the fastest flyers among dragonkind. Whatever Tarithalius had done, Avakketh would undo it in a moment, and the chase would begin.
She flew straight and fast toward the crags. It was a latticework of crevices and peaks that stretched for miles, and it was her only hope. If she could vanish into the crags before the elites regained the sky, she might lose them.
The crags neared, and she fell toward the first deep crack in the earth like a spear, not daring to look back for fear of losing even a fraction of a second. She dove deep, then began navigating.
She dipped her burned wing and cut the wind as hard as she dared. The wing was injured and, if it split, she was done for. She whipped around the edge of the spire, whispered three words and pulled the necessary threads. The GodSpill was not as strong in Irgakth as it was in Amarion. It made threadweaving more difficult. Her muscles trembled and her joints creaked with the strain, but the threads of the wind shoved her the extra few inches, and she plunged into the ravine without hitting the wall.
Another spire of stone whipped by her. Her claws brushed it, dislodging bits of lava rock that fell into the bottomless crack. She tucked her wings and dove again. Air whistled past her. She unfurled her wings, pulling another hard turn through the meandering trench.
Spying a cave below, she dove one last time. The cave was dark, and she plunged into it at full flight. She whispered, using threadweaving again to stop herself before she slammed into the back wall. She swung around, her tail smashing into a trio of stalagmites, reducing them to jagged rubble.
Just outside the cave, she heard a whoosh of air beneath another set of wings. Damn! The elites were so fast. Another second, and whichever elite had caught her would have leapt on her back.
The white, horned head dipped low, peering into the cave. It was Zynderilifakyz. Zynder was an amazing flyer; of course he had caught her first. But the others would be close behind.
Bands lunged toward the cave’s entrance. She only had one chance. She must make it convincing. She whispered words, guiding her focus as she manipulated the threads...
...and vanished.
Zynder blasted the cave with his fiery breath, melting the rough rock until the ceiling dripped onto the floor. Dragons were practically immune to fire, but dragon breath was equipped with a hint of acid. It stripped protections like scales, seeking the tender flesh beneath.
His bright white eyes narrowed to tight slits against the heat, dropping to the lip of the cave.
Zynder entered the melting cavern, checking everywhere. He swiveled his long neck left and right. He even turned and looked behind him into the gloomy expanse of the lava trench.
“You defy the law of our lord,” Zynder said in his smooth, strong voice. “Any true dragon would gladly die for him, but not you. You have been so badly infected by the humans that you would rather run.”
Bands said nothing; she didn’t move.
“What manner of creature are you, Randorus Ak-nin Ackli Forckandor?” Zynder used her full name. His whip-like tongue flicked across the air. “You are not a true dragon. But you are not a human, either. You hide from your betters and pretend to be something so far below your station, our lord must revoke the life that he once gave to you. You sicken us all.”
I have learned more than you in my travels, Zynder. Avakketh did not give us life. Natra did. Avakketh does not create.
“Avakketh has shown you more mercy than you deserve.” Zynder paused. “I will give you one chance to do the right thing, Randorus. Show yourself. Accept your lord’s judgment and pas
s through the Godgate with honor.”
There is no honor in genocide. The honorable path is to fight Avakketh before he wipes out an entire race.
A second of the elites arrived with a powerful flapping of wings. She hovered at the edge of the cave.
“Zynder,” the huge white dragon called. “Did you dispatch her?”
He looked up at the new arrival. “No,” he rumbled through his teeth. “She has the mean cunning of a rat. She used some spell to transport herself away.”
The second dragon rumbled. “Avakketh will be disappointed.”
“How did she blunt his spell?” Zynder snapped his teeth in frustration. His scaly lips pulled back to bare his teeth. His white eyes shone malevolently. “How did she do that?”
“She humiliated him. And we have failed our lord.”
“If he requires my life as punishment, I will gladly give it,” Zynder said.
“As will I.”
“She only has one place to go,” he continued. “She must return to the human lands, and we will find her there.”
The elite showed her teeth.
“I will take my retribution,” he said.
He launched himself powerfully into the air. He and the other elite began flying back to the amphitheater.
With the wind whipping past him, he did not notice Bands. Avakketh considered the form of a dragon to be the best form in the world. Stooping to take on the form of another was beneath them all. So Zynder didn’t even notice the tiny black dragon beetle Bands had become. She let go of the back of his neck and fell out of sight into the trench, opening her flicking wings and flying south.
She had hoped to spend a hundred years forgetting her beloved. She had hoped to give him time with his lovely human woman, Mirolah.
But she was going to have to break that promise. Medophae had to be protected. The humans had to be warned.
1
Mershayn
Mershayn pushed the rock against the edge of his sword in one long, slow motion. The oil muted the sound a little, but there was still a light ring with each stroke, and it was music to him. After thirty, he hefted the blade, held it out in front of himself and studied it with a critical eye.
“Sharp as my wit,” he murmured, putting a thumb against the edge and dragging it lightly. He examined the cut, sucked away the trace of blood. Perfect.
He grabbed the vial of oil and dripped it sparingly on the other edge. He’d only rung the first stroke when a knock sounded at the door.
“Are you in there?” The wood-muffled voice of his half-brother, Collus, came through the door. “Mershayn?”
With a smile, Mershayn grabbed the rag from his bed and wiped away the oil on the blade.
“Come in, Your Majesty,” he said.
The door opened, and Collus came in. His copper hair was cut short, high above his ears. The velvet doublet he wore flared out at the top, far beyond where Collus’s sloped shoulders actually ended. Mershayn noted with amusement that the fancy doublet looked lopsided.
“Good day, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, gods, Mershayn. Is this going to be one of those days? Don’t call me that. Not when it’s just the two of us.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Collus let out a long breath and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging the crown. He caught it, frowning at it as if he had not expected it to be there, then he tossed it to Mershayn. Mershayn snatched it before it hit the wall.
“Perhaps I’ll keep this,” Mershayn said, putting on a thoughtful face as he appraised the crown.
“Throw it into the Inland Ocean for all I care.” Collus paused then, and put his head in his hands. “I was never meant for this, brother. I liked my life.”
Mershayn couldn’t argue with that. Watching Collus try to rule was like watching a fish try to fly. “Next time be born a bastard. Nobody expects anything of you,” Mershayn said. Collus was Tyndiria’s eldest cousin, her closest blood relative. Like it or not, the burden of the crown belonged to Collus by law. The last succession in Teni’sia had almost caused a coup, and the strongest nobles in the kingdom had agreed this time that they would send for, and support, the closest blood relative to their young queen. It should have been Collus and Mershayn’s father, but he had passed away three months ago, leaving Collus the lord of a small estate so far to the south that it bordered Clete. Collus wasn’t a political mastermind, but even he could see his duty. Teni’sia could descend into civil war if he didn’t step in.
“I feel as if there are nothing but sharks in the water all around me,” Collus said.
“Behead them all. Start over.”
Collus frowned at Mershayn’s humor. “Each of them smile and bow and fill me with pleasantries, but I can feel the weight of their intentions, tugging me this way, pulling me that way. And just as I think I am making decisions on my own, I find that I have been manipulated into a corner. To them, I am a puppet brought in to dance to their desires. Galorman Balis wants funds to study the new change in the lands. They’re calling it The Wave, and he wants to capture and examine any and all new creatures that have appeared since whatever it is that happened…happened. Bordi’lis wants to kill any such creatures that are found, and confine any of our people who exhibit any unusual talents themselves. Giri’Mar wants me to allow him to bolster the army in case of attack by these same creatures. Captain Lo’gan insists that the army is running quite efficiently, and that it is foolish to build an army upon an unseen threat. Only Grendis Sym seems interested in helping me actually rule the country.”
That’s because he’s a snake that’ll tell you anything you want to hear. Mershayn had hated Grendis Sym from the first moment they met. Mershayn liked people who were plain-spoken, and while everyone at the palace seemed to say one thing and mean another, Sym did it so flawlessly that it was barely noticeable. That made him the most dangerous. Publicly, Sym was the most accepting of the fact that Collus’s closest advisor was his bastard half-brother. He was all smiles and polite deference. But hadn’t his father tried to kill the previous queen and take the throne? Mershayn wasn’t a fool. He saw the looks Sym gave him when no one else watched, like Mershayn was a sliver he couldn’t figure out how to extract.
“I don’t know why you allowed him to become a part of your council at all,” Mershayn said. “His father was a traitor. Send him away.”
“Lord Sym is the only one who seems to make lucid suggestions about trade, the military, and the damned Wave. He seems to know the way Teni’sia works better than any other. And the others...” He let out a sigh. “They pick and preen and look for every weakness they can find in me. How did Tyndiria do it? She was only sixteen!”
In the last two years, the recently-dead queen had already gained renown in the southern kingdoms of peninsulas for her unanticipated strength. In the south, they’d called her the Bloody Butterfly, after the way she’d dealt with Magal Sym, Grendis Sym’s father. She was said to have led a charmed life, surviving a dozen assassination attempts in her first year of rule, but her luck had finally run out. Or perhaps she’d forgotten to pay her top assassin, the notorious Captain Medophae, and he’d ended her life. The man obviously had the skills, and he’d disappeared the day after her funeral. There were also rumors that Queen Tyndiria and Captain Medophae were secret lovers. So he’d also had the access, and what better motivation for murder than the raging emotions of a spurned lover? It all seemed highly suspicious to Mershayn, but nobody in the kingdom seemed willing to even consider that Captain Medophae been the murderer.
“From what I remember,” Mershayn said, trying to stay on Collus’s topic, “she did not bend under the weight of others’ opinions.”
“Are you saying that I do?” Collus’s eyes flashed.
He spread his hands out, palms up. “What do I know of ruling, Your Majesty? I am nothing more than a fortunate bastard.”
“Stop it,” Collus growled. “The mouse is an ill-fittin
g mask for you. Did I ever treat you as anything but a brother?”
“No.” Mershayn already regretted what he had said. Some defenses jumped up unbidden. Urg. Mershayn hated politics. There was no way to step rightly. It was all just an opportunity to dredge up all the worst parts of people, to force you to make friends of your enemies, and to doubt those who only wanted to help you. Nothing good ever came of it.
“I didn’t deserve that.” Collus was sullen.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Mershayn said. “It was badly done.”
“Gods damn it. Stop calling me ‘Your Majesty’ when we’re alone together. I hate it. You are my brother. I won’t have it. That is a royal command, if I must make it so.”
Mershayn smiled wryly at the irony. “As you wish, brother.”
“Now, be a brother and answer me honestly. Am I a reed that bends to whatever wind blows? Is that what you think?”
Mershayn shrugged. “In the times I have attended your audiences and your councils, I have noticed that, often when an issue arises, you do not seem to know what to do.”
“That is because I don’t know what to do!”
“Can you imagine that your cousin always knew what to do?”
“Tyndiria was an aberration. I don’t know how she could have known how to deal with even half of these issues.”
“I bet she didn’t.”
“What?”
“I bet she was clueless, too. How could she not be?”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. Everyone raves about her wisdom.”
“Perhaps she just acted like she knew.”
“And what if she was wrong?”
“Perhaps she wasn’t afraid of making mistakes.”
“Fair enough. And some mistakes don’t matter. But some can cause an open rebellion!”
The GodSpill Page 2