The Fifth Magic (Book 1)

by Brian Rathbone

  Kendra's idea for an airship dock had merit, but Benjin would stick with water landings and more traditional methods to transport goods inland. The dragons were supposed to be there to help guide them away from the dry dock and to keep the prevailing winds from smashing them against the hold itself. The memory of their departure from Windhold was something none would soon forget. The fact that the Dragon's Wing was in one piece was the result of good fortune as much as anything else, which wasn't the most comforting thought.

  Few of his thoughts were pleasant. Not long ago, he'd believed they were making a new start. He'd hoped for a peaceful existence. He'd been wrong.

  The path the Drakon followed had been unerring, and the Dragon's Wing now soared along the same path. No one knew what they would find, if anything. Their only information came from the general direction the Drakon flew: toward the Godfist.

  This did not bode well, and Benjin was reminded of the events leading up to Trinda's taking Dragonhold. He did not like the conclusions he came to, and he was certain the rest on board felt the same way. Pelivor and Gwen kept the ship in the air with perhaps unhealthy dedication and commitment. Benjin didn't want them or any other crew member to burn out. Jessub Tillerman was now the backbone of his crew. The young man knew how to work hard and did his level best to keep up with Pelivor and Gwen.

  "We must fish," Fasha said without preamble. "Set us down."

  Gradually Gwen reduced the thrust, and the ship eased lower. His flightmaster and thrustmaster had more than earned their titles; they had gone beyond proficiency and now practiced flight like an art form. It required the two to work together, almost like a dance. Pelivor was leading, but without Gwen, the dance was incomplete. Either could act on their own to both fly and propel the ship, but when they worked together, the Dragon's Wing was the fastest and most nimble ship on all the seas and skies.

  Benjin was reminded a moment later, though, they were not the only ship sailing the wind. Just moments before the Dragon's Wing would enter the seas, Jessub cried out from the crow's nest, "The Serpent to port!"

  Though he'd seen Kenward's airship only once, the thing had managed to offend just about every one of Benjin's senses. Everything about it just felt wrong, yet he'd seen the thing fly. Now he had inescapable evidence the ship was still flying. It wasn't that he wished any ill on Kenward or his crew, but the Serpent had been designed to never touch water. The roughly carved masthead modeled after his own ship did not sit well with Benjin.

  Though he flew the Dragon's Wing without reservation or fear, the thought of getting on the Serpent made him physically ill. He'd known those on Kenward's crew were less than sane from his days aboard the Slippery Eel. Many proved themselves fearless by boarding the Serpent. At least a few had shown good sense. They had been replaced.

  Distant shouts drifted over the winds, fragmented and distorted.

  "Bring us back up and make for the Serpent!" Fasha commanded.

  Once again demonstrating their skill, Gwen and Pelivor aborted the water landing. The maneuver required a great deal of thrust, which sent Wendel to his knees, but he soon regained his feet.

  "Sorry," Gwen said once they were gaining altitude. Wendel waved off the apology. No one could expect the two to have mastered things no one else had ever done.

  The closer the Serpent got, the more detail was visible, and Benjin had to admit the roughly carved masthead was a suitable tribute from a distance. There was no way the flakewood airship could ever match the polished sheen of the greatoak.

  Another problem arose as the two ships approached one another: speed. Though Kenward did his best to keep it a secret, the Serpent was propelled by more than just wind and sail. Still, the Serpent was far slower. The Dragon's Wing, which was heavier, needed to move faster than the Serpent to stay in the air.

  "Bring us down," Fasha ordered after they had flown three circles around the Serpent without being able to communicate clearly. Gwen and Pelivor swiftly complied and brought them in for the softest landing one could expect when dropping into rough seas.

  The ship's motion was like an old friend yet was foreign after so much time. The adjustment always took some time. Kenward proved his ship did have some advantages over the Wing; he could effectively hover as long as the winds cooperated. Though the seas were choppy, the winds were consistent and allowed Kenward to bring the Serpent in close.

  "Not too close," Fasha shouted and frowned when Benjin chuckled. She shook her head, knowing the joke. Kenward had been making her think he would sink her for most of their lives. He hadn't actually done it yet.

  He had managed to sink one ship, and another lay in the high reaches on the Firstland, which wasn't exactly comforting. Benjin admitted Catrin had a lot to do with the loss of the Slippery Eel. Thoughts of Catrin were painful, and he pushed them away.

  "Hey, Sis!" Kenward shouted. Benjin couldn't help but smile.

  "Have you seen the Drakon?" Fasha shouted back, never one to waste words.

  "We saw them," Kenward said. "They're headed to Dragonhold."

  "Why?" Benjin shouted before Fasha could take a breath.

  "Trinda sang!" Brother Vaughn shouted from the place where he had quite thoroughly tied himself to the Serpent. "I think she must have summoned the regal dragons in the same way she once summoned the ferals."

  These words made Benjin's blood run cold. He'd suspected Trinda was behind this, but having it confirmed made him feel even worse.

  "I can't fly in circles all day," Kenward shouted into the silence following Brother Vaughn's words. "I've only got enough fuel and fresh water to get me back to the Firstland. Trinda really wants that second forsaken throne, and we can't pull it off without the dragons."

  "Throne?" Benjin asked, a sick feeling in his stomach.

  "The ones from the Eel," Brother Vaughn said, saving Kenward from having to say it.

  Fasha turned to Benjin, her eyes pleading. Both knew how painful it must be for Kenward to go back there. How difficult it must be to once again transport the cargo that doomed the Slippery Eel. Benjin wasn't certain he wanted to go to Catrin's Vale, but he could not make his friend go there.

  "Drop the fishing gear," Benjin ordered. "Once we have enough food to get us back to the Firstland, we sail."

  Fasha nodded and though it was his and his wife's ship, Benjin turned to Wendel. Sinjin was Wendel's grandson, and the boy was flying into the child queen's hands.

  "There is nothing we can do to help Sinjin if we can't even get into Dragonhold," Wendel said, his face grim and determined. "With the throne, she has at least a reason to hear us out."

  "It's decided," Fasha said. "Kenward, fly on ahead. We'll be behind you."

  "You'll catch up, Sis," Kenward said, and Fasha blew him a kiss. Benjin would never really understand those two. For much of their lives, they had been at each other's throats, yet as they grew older, they were almost nice to each other--almost; they were Trells, after all.

  Benjin had made the decision, but he had a strange feeling in his gut. He watched the Serpent until she disappeared behind the cloud banks rolling in. Winds tossed the seas and the ship. Benjin would never admit it, but his sea legs weren't what they used to be.

  "Fish aren't going to bite in these winds," Wendel said.

  "We've enough stores for three more meals, sir," Jessub reported without being asked.

  Benjin nodded and took in his surroundings. Everyone was waiting for him to decide. He was unsure, a sense of impending doom descending upon him, from where he did not know. For once he felt true empathy for Nat Dersinger. Now he knew what it felt like to have dark premonitions, and he liked it not at all.

  Looking to his wife, he silently asked her. A weaker person would have deferred to him or had difficulty deciding what to do, but that was not Fasha. "Pull the lines! Get us back in the air, and point us back toward the Firstland. Jessub, prepare the next meal with one-third rations."

  Jessub nodded and retreated into the deckhouse. No one protes
ted, instead pulling in the fishing gear and preparing for flight. It was a mixed blessing when a pair of tuna came in with the trawls. While it bolstered their stores, it took time to clean and store the fish before they could prepare for flight. Benjin's impatience had rubbed off on Fasha, and she joined him in securing the rigging.

  Dark skies harboring cold winds descended upon them by the time the Dragon's Wing was ready to take flight. The conditions made it easier in some ways since the winds provided lift, but these winds were gusty and unpredictable, which could unexpectedly drop them back into the water. Instead, the ship leaped upward and backward on a sudden, persistent gust. Turning the ship to use that wind to their advantage, Pelivor strained. It didn't take him long to bring the ship under control and gain altitude, but it felt like an hour to Benjin. He was just about to take a deep breath when a hulking form burst from the clouds and nearly collided with the rigging. With a deep, rumbling roar, the dragon swerved and missed them, but it was a close thing.

  Shouting could be heard from the tierre, but Benjin couldn't make out the words. Onin of the old guard's voice was easily identified, and he recognized Jehregard.

  The dragon continued toward the Godfist, his path unerring, and Benjin had a bad feeling in his gut. "Make all speed!"

  * * *

  Durin knew nothing. He was stranded on the Firstland with the Dragon Clan. Sinjin and Kendra would never have left them intentionally, and Benjin had told him about Trinda Hollis's singing before also leaving. He had no insight into her motives and nothing to ensure the future of his friends and his people. He wanted to scream, but the Dragon Clan watched. They saw him as some sort of measuring stick on Sinjin's and Kendra's motives and the intentions. The Dragon Clan were one people in name, but the clan consisted of three different cultures, and they had yet to come to fully understand each other. Harmony was difficult without understanding.

  Normally Durin acted as a mediator between those with differences or ill feelings, but he didn't feel up to it on this day. For once, he wanted someone to try to calm his ragged nerves. Just one time, he would like it if someone solved his problems. This tirade was interrupted by the mental parade of problems that had been solved by others, and he drew a deep breath.

  The storm had left parts of Windhold in disarray. Those parts of the hold were not anyone in particular's responsibility, and Durin knew he needed to organize work groups to get the windblown debris cleaned up and sorted from the still usable materials. They discarded almost nothing on the Firstland, and even windblown detritus could be what they needed to survive.

  He was a few steps away from Valterius's stall when someone cried out. At first he couldn't make out the words, but the Dragon Clan gathered near Windhold's seaward openings.

  Finally a clear voice rose above the din. "Dragon's Wing!" the man said.

  Relief flooded over Durin; he'd begun to think no one would ever come back. He heard no cry of Drakon or Al'Drak, which quickly tempered the relief.

  "The Serpent!" came another cry, and Durin slowed as he neared the opening, having reached a full run. There, on the horizon, were two flying ships in some ways similar to each other yet completely different. The Dragon's Wing outpaced the Serpent and reached the shallow waters off shore. There they glided into the smooth waters, barely disturbing the surface as they did. The process was so subtle, it was like an illusion to Durin.

  The Serpent, in contrast, soared over the Wing's masts and continued toward Windhold. Caught up in the spectacle, Durin and the Dragon Clan failed to recognize the danger until Kenward's cries reached them. "Look out! We're coming in!"

  At once, the Dragon Clan cleared the opening, and a few brave souls charged across the windblown open expanse, moving crates, bales of stick weed, and bundles of herbs. The Serpent continued an orderly approach. The winds directly surrounding the hold were anything but predictable. Sinjin had described entering Windhold on the wing as the most terrifying three breaths of his life. The Serpent exaggerated the effect and proved to Durin he belonged on solid ground. Twisting at the last instant, the Serpent tipped forward, slamming Kyrien's likeness into the stone. The ship stopped fast--too fast. Durin worried there would be injuries.

  The wind socks deflated, but as they had in the past, they reinflated as they caught the wind within the cavern and began dragging the ship deeper into the hold. The Dragon Clan showed their tenacity and ingenuity by jumping on atop the wind socks, causing them to completely deflate. The first two or three were taken for a ride, but their efforts eventually paid off and brought the Serpent to a halt.

  Kyrien's now badly scarred visage, struck Durin as a bad omen. Still, at least someone had returned to them. His heart was still sick with worry over the Drakon. He even missed Valterius trying to step on him or swat him with the sledge he had for a tail.

  "Thank you for your help, Dragon Clan," Kenward said when he stepped from his airship and onto Windhold's solid stone. "Sorry for the abrupt entrance, but on a finer note, we could use some help unloading all these supplies. Trinda would have let us all starve, I'm sure, but a Trell is never without options."

  Durin smiled. He'd long since lost hope in getting the requested supplies from the Godfist. For a time, there would be at least some comforts from home.

  "Thank you, Kenward," Durin said. "We're in your debt."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that," Kenward said, and Durin felt a little sick. What had he just gotten himself into? "You might want to get your fill of things from the Godfist before I tell you. I don't want to spoil your appetite."

  "Tell me now," Durin said.

  "As you wish," Kenward said. "Trinda sang and summoned the dragons to Dragonhold. And we need to get the other stone chair onto the Dragon's Wing."

  "Without the help of any dragons?" Durin asked without thinking. "Are you joking?"

  "Still hungry?" Kenward asked in response.

  Durin walked to where the supplies were being opened and inspected them, despite having far less appetite than he'd had a moment before.

  Chapter 12

  Marry the sword, sleep in a cold bed.

  --Morif, soldier

  * * *

  Benjin found himself, once again, grateful for the Dragon Clan. Their strength came not from their dragons but from within. As ever in his life, when he needed help, they had been there for him. They had not always understood each other, and there had not always been love and respect between them, but that was long ago. Now Benjin considered himself an honorary part of the Dragon Clan, if not the Drakon. Sinjin had often said flying the Dragon's Wing made him and his crew Drakon, but Benjin knew his place.

  Finding a way to sufficiently thank the Dragon Clan for the risks they took and the burden they bore this day would take years. Only a single mention that the throne might help keep Sinjin, Valterius, and the Drakon safe was needed to motivate the people. It gave Benjin great pride, not just in what Sinjin had accomplished, but for the Arghast themselves. They were, after all, his countrymen.

  Flying any ship to the place where the Slippery Eel lay was risky and dangerous at best, and strong winds made it an even less viable option. Thus they found themselves carrying the bulky piece down the mountainside. Benjin had serious reservations about the plan's practicality as well, but his people never ceased to impress him. Once they had removed the throne from the Slippery Eel, it was apparent they had sufficient strength to bear the burden. Benjin prayed for their stamina as well.

  Another reason Benjin was grateful for the Dragon Clan was that they had spared Kenward the need to revisit the Slippery Eel's resting place. The anguish had been clear in Kenward's eyes, and Benjin couldn't imagine how the man must feel. At least when he had sunk the Kraken's Claw, the wreckage had been lost to the depths. The Slippery Eel remained much as she'd been left, save the slow ravages of time. Encroaching mosses coated the wood, giving the appearance the ship was growing out of the mountain.

  There were other restless spirits in that vale as well. It was a
sacred place. The regent dragons had said the vale belonged to Catrin, but one couldn't visit the place and not be overcome by the fading presence of those majestic creatures, now gone from his world. Benjin shed more than one tear in their memory and that of Catrin and Kyrien. Not for the first time, nor the last, he sucked unsteady breaths past his quivering bottom lip.

  Shouts brought Benjin from his mourning. Methodically he made his way around the narrow ledge to see the throne teetering on the precipice. Those carrying one side had slipped on loose scree and were having a terrible time trying to get back under the timbers they were using the hoist the massive weight.

  "Lower your corner!" Benjin shouted to the men opposite the low corner. As they did, daylight shone under the support braces, and the people wasted no time getting the timbers raised back up onto their shoulders. No one had been killed, and the throne hadn't been lost, which was a testament to just how strong these people were, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Somehow they knew they would not fail, which drove them to success. Benjin had always known the world worked this way, but never had he seen it quite so clearly demonstrated as with the Dragon Clan. Nothing would prevent these people from achieving what they believed they would do.

  Their progress gave Benjin hope and belief of his own. They had made it past the worst of the descent. Here and there they would have to clear brush and take down a tree or two to clear a wide enough path, but they had essentially achieved their goal. Benjin worried less about potential loss of life.

  It was nearing dark when they finally reached the lowlands, making their way onto the trail leading to the beach. As soon as Kenward's crew saw the Dragon Clan emerge on to the plain, they rushed to assist the now exhausted tribesmen. The windlass and ropes had already been prepped, and only Kenward and Sevon remained to mind the Serpent. Sevon was not known for his brute strength and would have been of little use. Still, knowing what he knew, Benjin wondered if Sevon had other reasons. Kenward said he trusted the man, but Benjin couldn't help but view him with suspicion. Anyone who'd been in the employ of Trinda was suspect. Knowing he could do nothing but guard his own coin purse, Benjin let his concerns about Sevellon the thief go and concentrated on the dangers they might face while lowering the throne into the Serpent's hold.