The Fifth Magic (Book 1)

by Brian Rathbone

  The stone ring holding the Staff of Life disappeared into the hole, and the staff dropped with it until only a single hand's width of ancient wood remained above the stone. Part of Kenward wanted to race to the staff and keep it from dropping any further. Never before had it been so clear that he was powerless.

  For a few moments, the keep was silent. Trinda lay still. Bernerd knelt to check her for signs of life, but then the keep shuddered. A deep, painful vibration hurt Kenward's joints and gave the impression of giant gears being engaged. He had the distinct feeling his fate was already sealed. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and it was too late for him to change it. He'd been in dangerous situations before, but never had he been so utterly helpless. When the stone floor leaped up to meet him, he thought his luck might finally have run out.

  * * *

  The decision to return to the Godfist came down to Wendel Volker. It was, after all, his daughter who'd just effectively come back from the dead. And now she was flying back into danger. Benjin didn't know how to feel except worried. There were very few ways he could imagine this ending well. Almost all paths led to disaster. Again he tried to understand Trinda's motives but could make no sense of them. Why bring all the dragons to Dragonhold if not to get the most powerful people on Godsland in one place. It was possible the girl could not differentiate which types of dragons she summoned, but Benjin suspected she knew exactly what she was doing. He just didn't know why, which bothered him greatly.

  Going back to the Godfist was an enormous risk, but the weather had worked to Benjin's advantage for once in his life. Though storms were something they normally sought to avoid, a storm fronted by strong winds and headed in the correct direction had made their already swift vessel even faster. Ferals had ignored the Dragon's Wing last time, but that didn't mean they would do so again. His wife and daughter were on this ship, and every crew member was a dear friend. All of them had agreed, which did nothing to reduce the responsibility weighing on Benjin. His family and friends were strong and craftier than most would give them credit for, and still Benjin felt he should turn back out to sea.

  The Godfist loomed ahead like a beacon of inevitability. The problems there would neither go away nor fix themselves. People he loved were in danger there, and the Wing flew with single-minded determination. They weren't much of an army, but they would have to do.

  "Bring us in fast and low," Benjin said to Pelivor. "The longer before they know we're coming, the better."

  "Are you sure about this?" Fasha asked.

  "You're the captain of this ship," Benjin said. "I know I've crossed that line on a number of occasions, but I'll not go back on my word."

  Fasha stood for a long moment, silent. She glanced at Gwen and the others, as if committing them to memory. Perhaps she was, Benjin thought. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't bear to think about losing any of them, and yet if they landed on the Godfist, it was unlikely all of them would make it back out.

  "Turn back," Wendel said. "I can't have any of your blood on my conscience. Let me off in the harbor. I'll go alone."

  "I'm going with you," Jensen said, leaving no room for debate.

  "No one will keep me away," Pelivor said, fire in his eyes. His posture dared anyone to defy him.

  "I'm not staying here while my flightmaster saves the girl," Gwen said. Pelivor flushed.

  It was, once again, unanimous.

  "Low and fast," Benjin said again.

  Shouts greeted them when they passed over the harbor and lift, but those who'd seen them couldn't send word in time. Flying low, as it turned out, had drawbacks. So many things jutted into the air. Trees and buildings jammed the valley, which had been uninhabited not so long ago. Benjin thanked the gods for Pelivor's skills. No one spoke for fear of breaking the man's concentration.

  Deadly obstructions soared past with blinding speed. Pelivor masterfully avoided the dangers, but in doing so, he sent the ship leaning to one side or the other. The rest did what they could to predict the movements of the ship. Pelivor could offer little warning, able only to react when new dangers approached.

  The valley widened a bit as they moved south, and the flight through Lowerton was much smoother. The place was abandoned and empty and lent to the spooky feeling. Seeing feral dragons circling high above didn't add to his confidence.

  When Dragonhold came into view, the facade was still unfinished, the gates hanging open. Those gates were charred and splintered and wouldn't be closing any time soon. One door was perilously close to falling into the valley below, which would most likely take out the wooden stair on its way down. It didn't bode well for their climb. Few other options presented themselves.

  Deep thunder rolled through the valley, far louder than anything Benjin had ever heard, yet there was not a cloud in the sky. This sounded different than Catrin's attacks, and he was still trying to figure it out when he saw dust clouds. Dragonhold moved. It didn't simply rotate internally this time; the entire mountain moved. Reaching from the ground like claws of stone, megalithic spires with smooth, elegant lines erupted. Dragonhold was in the grip of a stone god. Farther and farther the claws extended until nearly meeting in the air high above the tallest peak. How could anyone have created something grander than the mountains? Benjin asked himself. It was unfathomable, yet it was real.

  Lightning danced between the stone spires. Then the stones themselves began to sing a wavering note.

  "It's some kind of shield!" Wendel shouted. "We'll never get in there through that!" Desperation raised the pitch of voice.

  "Whatever that thing is," Benjin shouted, "it looks like it's still warming up. Hold on!"

  "What are you doing?" Fasha asked in a shrill voice.

  "Bring us in hot," Benjin yelled to Pelivor.

  "Are you mad?" Fasha shouted. The time for debate had passed. A spire stood between them and the front gates. Sliding past it would be the only way to gain the hold--that was, if they were not killed instantly by the shield. Mountain and spire rushed toward them at incredible speed. Benjin braced himself.

  Dancing between the spires, lightning licked the rigging as they sped forward. Benjin hoped they weren't already too late and couldn't blame those screaming as they cleared the spire. No pain came but the gates were upon them in the next instant, even smaller than they appeared from far away. The opening was large enough to admit the Wing, but the speed and the angle of their approach was less than ideal, causing them to brush against one side of the entrance. A whole tree trunk protruded from the gate and sent them spinning. Pelivor showed skills he'd never used before as he straightened out the listing airship and brought her down. The landing was more abrupt than any before it, and Benjin thought hull might shatter, but it was as if they had struck something with a bit of give to it.

  A moment later, Benjin made his way to the rail and looked down to see what had broken their fall. Kenward Trell was not going to be happy.

  Chapter 15

  Memory is short and civilization fragile; record precious knowledge in stone.

  --Brother Vaughn, Cathuran monk

  * * *

  After the initial jolt knocked everyone down, Sinjin pushed himself up onto all fours. Kendra and others moved, and his wife did not appear to be hurt. Trinda was still, and her guards hovered over her. His mother's and even Allette's faces told him something was terribly wrong. All the color had drained from them, and Sinjin felt something unnerving. Though he possessed very little power, he could feel it . . . changing. It was a strange sensation and difficult to describe. He felt as if the power were being bent. What had always been a somewhat constant note had changed in pitch, and it buzzed in his mind. His mother clapped her hands over her ears, and Allette doubled over.

  Accompanying all this was a grinding vibration, similar to what it had felt like when the keep moved, except this was far more intense and sustained. Darkness overcast the amber crystals allowing in the light, forming claw-shaped shadows. Like the hand of
an awakened god tightening around them, colossal stone fingers enclosed Dragonhold in a tomblike grip.

  "No!" Catrin screamed.

  "Make it stop!" Allette added her shrill plea.

  These massive stones warped the energy as they moved into place. Multicolored lightning danced along the rock, and waves of blue plasma washed over the spaces in between, as if some sort of barrier had been erected between them. The farther the fingers reached, the more defined the barrier grew. The energy vibrated at an ever-increasing pitch, making Sinjin's teeth feel as if they would explode.

  His mother and Allette squirmed in obvious anguish. Never had Sinjin hated Trinda more. He'd been angry and hurt, but now it was different. Now he wanted to knock her teeth out. There was nothing he could tolerate less than someone hurting his mother, and it was clear those with power greater than his were in far more pain.

  Trinda woke, her screams deflecting his anger. The certainty of their deaths was made clear when a second jolt rocked Dragonhold. The fingers of stone locked into place with sudden finality. It felt as if they had all just been sealed in a tomb. Though they had previously managed to stand, Allette and his mother both collapsed back onto the cold stone floor. What struck Sinjin first was the silence. The high-pitched note was gone, and its absence felt unnatural. It was like the feeling he got when flying and pressure built up in his ears; he could still hear but everything sounded wrong.

  The silence didn't last long. It was soon filled with Allette's sobbing. Sinjin rushed to his mother and found her unresponsive. What had Trinda done? he asked himself with tears streaming down his face. She was breathing, which gave him hope.

  Kendra reached his side. "What just happened?"

  "I'm not certain," Sinjin said. "But I'm pretty sure it's not good. I don't know what it's done to her, and I don't know how to help." Despite his best effort, the anxiety and fear made his voice tremble.

  Perhaps this sound triggered some maternal instinct in Catrin since her eyes opened and a sad smile formed on her lips. "It's OK, Sinjin," she said.

  Sinjin could not hold back his tears. The wellspring of relief drove him back to his knees.

  "What has Trinda done?" Kendra asked Catrin.

  "The power is gone," Catrin said. Her words were followed by stunned silence, which felt as if it might last forever. "The Fifth Magic has been activated. The true nature of this place has come to light too late. Dragonhold is a prison."

  * * *

  Kicking at an empty oyster shell along a black shore, Durin walked alone. Holding out hope his friends and family were still alive was exhausting given what they knew, and Durin had long since grown weary of it. For the Drakon left behind by dragons summoned in their absence, the uncertainty was no less painful. It had been their inescapable worry and anguish that had driven him from the hold. Stopping, he picked up another empty shell and skimmed it across the still waters of his favorite tidal pool. It was this place he came to whenever he needed inspiration, and he was sorely in need.

  A variety of fish swam within the pool, shocks of blue, yellow, and orange color danced beneath the now shimmering surface. Glossy black one-claw crabs skittered from the pool and up onto the rocks, concealing themselves away in crevices, making themselves nearly invisible. Durin knew where they were, though. The crabs were now considered a delicacy among the Dragon Clan, and though it took dozens to make a proper meal, Durin and the rest loved their succulent, smoky taste.

  Thoughts of the Dragon Clan reminded Durin of his troubles. Morale was low. The Drakon were privileged just by virtue of having bonded with a dragon. None blamed them, but that didn't mean no one felt resentment, hurt, or disappointment. The Arghast had foreseen this day, long ago, and becoming Drakon was something they'd all aspired to. For those left to support the hold, "Dragon Clan" had taken on new meaning and was no longer something of the greatest pride; it was less than Drakon, and that would not do.

  It was a puzzle Durin could not solve and was perhaps the least of his problems, but he wanted very much to avoid thinking about his most pressing concerns. He wasn't the one who'd been raised to hold great power as Sinjin had. Durin was in no way prepared for the role in which he found himself, yet the Dragon Clan respected him. They trusted him. He knew that trust was misplaced. It was given because of his relationship with Sinjin, not because he'd earned it. The idea of hand-me-down power did not sit well in his gut. His having power of any sort, least of all power he did not deserve, was unsettling. Sinjin, at least, had been raised for leadership. He'd been trained to handle situations just like this. Durin had been trained to carry water buckets. When he was honest with himself, he admitted that Sinjin had carried his share of water buckets and that some of what he'd learned had rubbed off. Still, the thought of these people relying on him made his stomach hurt.

  He'd been an outsider not so long ago, a pasty-faced Pinook among Arghast, but all that had changed. They relied on one another now. They had saved each other's lives, which created a bond stronger than any but blood. Their trust and reliance weighed on Durin. He was going to fail them. It was among the few things Durin had done with any regularity in his life. The greater the possible payoff for his efforts had been, the more colossal the disaster. Sinjin had set him up for the ultimate failure, and Durin couldn't help but resent him for it.

  Most of the time, Durin didn't feel this way, but Sinjin was gone along with the rest of the Drakon and those aboard the Serpent and the Dragon's Wing. The unknown was driving Durin to distraction, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Again, Durin kicked at the loose shells around him. Seabirds filled the air with their calls, and more shellfish dropped from the skies around Durin. He had learned long ago to wear headgear when visiting this place. His hat of woven reeds was far from attractive, but it did protect him from errant projectiles. The rocks around the tidal pool appeared to be the preferred place for seabirds to drop the otherwise inaccessible morsels. The air was filled with their raucous calls, and Durin thought it might be time to go; shellfish wasn't the only thing to fall from the sky during these feeding frenzies.

  Holding on to his hat, Durin jogged up the trail leading back to Windhold. Even with the noise of the seabirds, cries from the hold could be heard as soon as he cleared the black dunes. Panic set in almost immediately. Something must be wrong. Running up the difficult and, in places, treacherous trail, Durin knew he was being reckless. Sinjin would have counseled him to go more slowly rather than risk injury, but the uncertainty was going to consume Durin if he didn't get some indication of what was going on soon.

  In record time, he reached the base of the mountain housing Windhold. Durin had to take a moment to catch his breath. It was then he saw a sight that made his heart leap: dragons on the horizon. It didn't take long, though, to realize something was wrong. His breath freezing in his chest, Durin came to a chilling realization. The dragons were saddled but riderless.

  Durin couldn't get back to the hold proper soon enough, and when he finally burst into the main flight hall, everyone was talking at once. Durin walked to the giant opening and let the wind scour him with sand and occasional hints of salt spray. He had often marveled at the persistent wind giving the hold its name, but on this day, he ignored it. His tears mixed with the wind, and Valterius called out to him, a mournful wail. That alone was enough to make his knees buckle, but he steeled himself. This was no time for weakness or fear, Durin finally realized. His people needed him, and now there might be something he could actually do. Though he had no idea what fate had befallen the Drakon, he would not rest until he found out.

  Valterius, Gerhonda, and the other dragons entered Windhold in silence. The entire scene was surreal. What happened next put a lump in his throat. Gerhonda approached Marra, the woman who usually helped Kendra care for her, but rather than letting the woman remove the bridle and saddle, Gerhonda used her forehead to nudge Marra. Her eyes went wider and wider as Gerhonda guided her to the saddle. The scene repeated throughout the hold
, and even so, Durin jumped when Valterius nudged him.

  Feeling as if he were in a dream, Durin mounted Valterius. His knees trembled. Though he'd secretly wondered what it would feel like to have his own dragon, this was not how he had ever hoped or imagined it might happen. The other Dragon Clan appeared to share this feeling--most of them at least.

  Strom and Osbourne had been struggling to find their place in Windhold, and both were stunned when dragons approached, especially since they were not dragon grooms. No one protested, though, and Osbourne climbed atop Atherian. The man had no experience with dragon saddles, and Durin was proud of Chelene when she strapped Osbourne in. He sensed no anger or resentment from her. Ever-practical Chelene simply did what needed doing.

  Strom, on the other hand, had a much more difficult time. Initially he refused Grekka, but the regal dragon insisted. After some words Durin would never repeat, Strom mounted. As with Chelene, Tressa helped Strom, who sat with his eyes closed. Durin wasn't sure if he was praying or just frightened. Strom had sworn to avoid dragons ever since Kyrien had invaded his thoughts and coerced him into making Catrin's sword. Tressa gave him a firm nod, indicating Strom was securely strapped in.